


The Secret Life of Draco Malfoy

by Icicle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animals, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Bottom Draco, Break Up, Draco Malfoy in Glasses, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Humor, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Muggle world, Past Relationship(s), Pining Draco Malfoy, Scheming, Veterinary Clinic, Working with animals, dracocentric, odd jobs, photographer!harry, vet!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icicle/pseuds/Icicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Draco was ousted from the wizarding world. With a bit of luck and the help of some good friends, Draco becomes a successful veterinarian in the Muggle world. His life was slowly starting to come together again―that is―until Harry Potter shows up at his clinic with a sick cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Life of Draco Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the HD Career fest on livejournal, which focuses on Harry and Draco in unusual careers. A special thanks to Ashiiblack for her awesome beta skills.

**Title:** The Secret Life of Draco Malfoy  
**Author:** icicle33  
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco and mentions of Harry/OMC and Draco/OMC  
**Warnings/Content Notes:** Dracocentric, contains a past relationship and breakup between Harry and Draco, lots of adult language (Draco never learnt to control his tongue), humour and flangst  
**Author's Notes:** Enjoy.

* * *

 

 

 

“ _You can judge a man's true character by the way he treats his fellow animals_.” ― Paul McCartney

 

 

 

**~*~**

 

 

Draco Malfoy had never liked dogs. Or Cats. Birds. Reptiles. Amphibians. Flamingos. Absolutely not. They all gave him the heebie jeebies. And he found them to be pests. Furry disease carriers. That was all.

In fact, Draco had never liked animals of any kind. For some inexplicable reason, however, they _loved_ him. He knew he was lovable—being a Malfoy, handsome, brilliant, and blond—but it was ridiculous how much animals seemed to love him, especially the furry, cute ones. Of course, it couldn’t be the scary, manly ones. No such luck. The furry little rats were set on ruining Draco’s reputation. Just like everyone else.

If anyone had told him that he’d spend almost all his time taking care of furry creatures, he never would have believed them. Malfoys and animals did not mix. At least that was what he always thought. As usual, the universe, which he was certain hated him, had different plans than the life of luxury and Ministry job he had always imagined for himself. Lucius had never been a good father – understatement of the year – and they no longer kept in touch, considering Lucius’ lifetime prison sentence. However, there was one lesson that his father taught him, which was actually good advice. _A Malfoy always copes. Endures. And then survives._ And cope he did. His life might not be what he had imagined or hoped for, but it could certainly be worse.

After all, Dr Malfoy had a certain ring to it.

 

 

 

**~*~**

Draco stared in the cat-shaped shaped mirror in his office and winked at himself. “Just gorgeous. That’s one handsome bloke,” he said to the mirror. He ran a hand through his expertly tousled hair, fluffing it just so, and rearranged his round tortoise framed glasses, so they sat almost on the tip of his nose, giving him that intellectual debonair look he always sought after. Not that he wasn’t actually brilliant in his own right, but since Draco was so young and blond, he found it necessary to smarten up his image, especially in front of his clients. They loved it.

Besides, his Oliver Peoples spectacles had got him quite the number of dates; so really, they paid for themselves many times over. He straightened out his pressed white lab coat and doubled checked the Windsor knot on his silver tie. Then after blowing one more kiss at the Muggle mirror, he walked out to the reception area with his head held high and a little swagger in his step.

Of course, Draco knew that the Muggle mirror would never talk back to him since he wasn’t mad and all, just yet – no thanks to his Black family genes – but he always liked to imagine what the mirrors would say _if_ they had been enchanted. The mirror he used to have at home, a gift from his mother, used to offer the wittiest of compliments.

Thinking about enchanted mirrors and the Manor made him homesick. While he never would have chosen _this_ life for himself, he adored his job, and his co-workers weren’t as bad as he had once thought. Really, Draco had nothing to complain about – well – other than his abysmal lack of a love life, but that was another issue entirely. Either way, he found that surrounding himself with familiar faces, even if they were as annoying as his receptionist, calmed him and made him less prone to thinking about the past.

“Bertha, my dear, you’re looking lovely today, as _always_.”

Draco smiled at his receptionist, a stern-faced old woman with black hair and bright blue eyes. She always insisted on wearing her own clothing rather than the animal print scrubs the other assistants were required to wear. Today’s outfit was a lavender pantsuit with matching beads and Draco was certain it was _not_ Chanel. But since Bertha didn’t do more than answer phones and schedule appointments, Draco let her get away with it.

“Dr Malfoy,” Bertha said, giving Draco a brief once over. She pursed her lips at him and showed a little bit of teeth. “You’re actually on time today. What’s the occasion?”

Draco chuckled, knowing that was as close to an actual smile as the old woman ever gave. He placed a hand on Bertha’s shoulder and squeezed it twice. “I’m _always_ on time, Bertha. You know that this clinic would never survive without me. The patients come from miles and miles away just to see the great—”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before.” Bertha waved her left hand at him in a dismissive manner and then handed him a clipboard. “Here, you go, _Your Greatness._ Your first patient is already here, a tuxedo cat named Winston.” Bertha let out a loud sigh. “And his owner...what a polite and well-mannered young man he is. And _handsome_ too.”

Draco arched an eyebrow.“You don’t say?” It wasn’t often that handsome young men came into the office with sick cats. Their clientele was decisively more female than male, and the males that did come in, were usually fathers accompanying their crying daughters, who pleaded with Draco to save their beloved pets. “Tell me _more_. What’s he like? What’s his name?”

“Harry,” Bertha replied in a soft, dreamy voice, which he’d expect to come from a schoolgirl rather than his strict receptionist. “He’s quite handsome. Dark, messy hair. Broad shoulders. And the—”

 _Harry._ It had been years since he heard that name. His mouth went dry and he felt the colour drain from his face. “Did you say Harry?” he squeaked.

 _Keep calm_ ,he reminded himself. There were plenty of Harrys in the world. It was a dreadfully common name after all. Not like Draco. The chances that it was actually Potter were slim. What would he be doing in a Muggle veterinary clinic anyhow? Potter hated cats. Draco knew this for a fact. They’d had that argument countless times back when—no, there was no point in reliving that part of his life. It was over now and Draco didn’t like to look back. Living in the past only made him miserable.

He took a deep, calming breath and flashed a nervous smile at Bertha, hoping the old woman would grant him the comfort he desperately needed.

“You know? I’m not really sure. It’s written right there on the form I gave you. All I know is that he has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Bertha let out another sigh and Draco couldn’t help but feel jealous. Bertha was never this excited about anyone but _him_. And a Harry with black, messy hair, and the greenest eyes she’d ever seen—that could only mean one person. His heart lurched in the back of his throat, his stomach churning the remnants of his hurried breakfast. It couldn’t be Harry. Why would he come _here_. No, Draco needed to remain calm, keep his cool as he always did, and not let Bertha see his panic.

“It wouldn’t be a _Harry Potter_ by any chance?” Draco asked, placing one of his trembling hands in his coat pocket.

“You know, I think it—”

Draco never heard Bertha’s answer. An all too familiar voice filled his ears.

“Bertha, I’m so sorry, but Winston had an accident and—”

Draco closed his eyes and held his breath. _Harry._ He would know that voice anywhere. Potter was _here_ in Draco’s clinic with a _cat_. Bloody fucking hell! There was no way he was turning around. Hearing Harry’s voice again, after all this time, was like a kick in the groin. A sharp pang burnt in his chest. His lungs constricted and his breath grew shallow. Oh, no. Not again. He had been experiencing panic attacks ever since the end of the war, and this was the worst possible time to have one with Potter around. Unless he wanted to be rescued by Potter yet again, he needed to get out of there. Immediately. He dropped the clipboard on Bertha’s desk and got ready to bolt.

“Bertha, please tell Dr Vallarta that I’m suddenly not feeling well and went out to get some air. Tell him to cover for me until I return.”

“Draco?” Potter’s voice was higher-pitched than Draco had ever heard it. “What are you doing? Why—”

“Sorry Mr,” Draco interrupted, in his best imitation of an American accent, “you must have me confused with someone else. I get that a lot.”

Without waiting for a response, Draco ran out of the reception area, not bothering to stop for his coat and went straight out the door. He wasn’t kidding about needing air. If he didn’t relax and soon, he was going to pass out. His vision was starting to go blurry. Stupid Potter.

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

“Draco, are you alright?”

“Huh?” Draco looked up from the book he was reading, _Contemporary Nutrition for the Everyday Dog and Cat._ He had not returned to the clinic at all that day. Instead, he spent the rest of the day pacing around Muggle London. It was the only thing that relaxed him. He indulged in some retail therapy, and then once back at his flat, he paced again. Finally, after three cups of chamomile tea, laced heavily with Calming Draught, he was able to sit down and catch up on his reading.

“You poor, dear.” Antonio placed a cool hand on Draco’s forehead and plopped down into the seat next to him. “You’re as white as a ghost and burning up. Have you been staying up all night reading again?”

“Ghosts are transparent,” Draco mumbled into his book, “not white.”

Antonio furrowed his brow. “And how would you know?”

“Erm...I-read it in a book...once?”

Antonio gave him a strange look.

“I mean...I saw it on the telly. That’s right the _telly_.”

Antonio wrinkled his nose. “Odd,” he said with a smirk, “you never watch telly.”

Draco shrugged. “That time I did.”

Dr Antonio Vallarta was Draco’s closest friend, and the only other Veterinary Surgeon at Draco’s small but successful animal practice. Sometimes, Draco still forgot that he was a Muggle. But Muggle or not, Antonio was one of the smartest blokes that he had ever met. Bringing him on as a business partner helped their clinic run so much smoother and he wasn’t so bad on the eyes either.

Oh, no, _their clinic_. He felt terrible about leaving Antonio alone and swamping him with his patients, but he needed to take time for himself today. Desperately.

His encounter with Potter had disturbed him. He hoped that Potter would be content with Draco’s quick lie and accept that he’d been mistaken and not really seen him. The idea of former Death Eater Draco Malfoy working at a veterinary clinic, treating cute, helpless animals and working alongside Muggles was preposterous. Surely, Potter had enough sense to drop it and leave him alone. Potter was always too nosy for his own good though; knowing him, he probably bombarded Antonio with questions. Damn, he needed to find out what Potter asked and without alarming Antonio.

Draco snapped his book shut and smirked at Antonio. “So...were you able to manage without me? I know the patients prefer _me_ but—”

Antonio shook his head, his long dark hair swaying behind him. “I managed just fine. Things ran smoother than ever.” He forced a laugh, but then pressed his lips into a thin line. “Don’t change the subject, Draco. I’ve lived with you for three years now and worked with you longer than that. I know when you’re lying.”

He reached out and placed a hand on Draco’s arm, giving it a light squeeze and making him feel even worse.“You were up all night reading _again._ Weren’t you?”

“No, I...”

Antonio released his arm and paused, making sure to meet Draco’s eyes. “I know you want to be up to date on all the latest research...but you can’t—” His warm hazel eyes were so pained that it almost hurt Draco to look at him; that look made his voice disappear deep into his throat.

“I’m just worried about you, Doc,” Antonio added, “I know we’re only mates now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you still.”

Draco dropped his gaze to the table, pretending to organise his notes. At one point in his life, lying had come as a second nature to him, but Antonio had single-handedly changed his viewpoint on Muggles. He had helped Draco when no wizard would. It was an undeserved kindness that he would never forget—and he despised lying to him. But he had no choice.

“I’m fine,” Draco insisted. “I’ve been sleeping better. I just forgot to eat breakfast this morning and was feeling a bit lightheaded. That’s all.”

Antonio gave him a quizzical look but then nodded when Draco flashed him his most innocent smile. “Just promise to turn in early tonight. You need to be at the office bright and early tomorrow...and you’re going to have quite a long day.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“If you insist you’re fine, then I’m going to need you to cover for me tomorrow evening. You can work a double.”

Draco stacked up his books and notes from the table and placed them under his arm. “I _suppose_ that I can cover for you just this once.” He let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I’m always doing you favours. What...do you have a _hot date_ or something, Dr Vallarta?”

Antonio laughed and looked away. “Something like that.” A light blush spread down his cheeks.

“What?” Draco dropped the books on the table again. He and Antonio were both slaves to their clinic, so even though they were both fit, single blokes, they rarely went out on dates.  
“That’s great,” Draco said with a genuine smile. Antonio was a hell of a catch; his friend deserved to find someone that could make him happy. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

Antonio laughed again, although this time it was more of a chortle. His face turned even redder. “Who said anything about a girl?”

Draco’s eyes widened. He knew that Antonio swung both ways, but he almost always preferred women. “A bloke...but you haven’t gone out with any blokes since...”

“Since _you_.”

Antonio wore that same pained expression that caused a pang in Draco’s heart. Oh, how he wished that he hadn’t said anything. It had been a long time since the two of them split up, but it was still awkward to talk about their failed relationship. God, he was such an idiot sometimes. He never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“I-”

“No, it’s okay, Doc. You didn’t say anything wrong. We’re best mates, no? So we dated and it didn’t work out. There are worse things in life.” Antonio shrugged. “And yeah I haven’t been attracted to any blokes since you, but there’s something special about this one. I just met him, but we connected. There was a spark.”

“A _spark_?”

“Yes, a spark! And he’s so handsome too. You’d almost be jealous, Doc.”

Draco sniffed. No matter how many times he complained, Antonio refused to stop using that insufferable nickname. “I doubt he’s as handsome as I am,” he drawled, pretending to be affronted. “But stop stalling and tell me more! Where did you meet him? What type of shoes was he wearing? Cologne? Where is he taking you? He’d _better_ be paying.”

Antonio elbowed Draco in the ribs and laughed, a hearty belly laugh that lit up his entire face. “You crack me up, Doc. It’s such a surprise no one’s snatched you up yet.” He brushed a hand against Draco’s forehead and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Breathe, Doc...before you give yourself another panic attack.”

Draco was so excited for his friend that he decided to let that jibe pass. Just this once. After all, he owed the bloke. He took a mock deep breath, making sure to inhale and exhale as sharply as possible. “There, I’m calm,” he insisted. “Tell me.”

Antonio rolled his eyes but starting speaking anyway. “I met him at the clinic today. He brought in the most adorable tuxedo cat named _Winston_. I have no idea what type of shoes he was wearing. As for cologne, I’m not certain either. But I got close enough to smell him and he smelt divine. _Masculine,_ like sandalwood and fresh cut grass.”

“That doesn’t smell—”

“And he’s taking me to _The Ivy_ tomorrow night.” Antonio laughed, his eyes shining with childish delight. “Can you believe it?”

Draco’s eyes widened again; he opened them so wide that he was sure Antonio could make out his pupils. “The Ivy? Who is this bloke? That’s so...”

“Impossible to get a reservation. I _know_. But Harry, he said it wasn’t a problem.”

Draco grimaced, pressing his lips into a sharp line. It _couldn’t_ be. There was no way that Potter would have the nerve to hit on his flatmate. Not that Potter knew that Antonio was his flatmate, but that was beside the point. Somehow, the git should have known, and Draco took it as a personal assault.

All the genuine happiness that Draco was feeling for Antonio faded. Completely.

“I was going to say The Ivy is so last year,” he drawled in his most haughty voice, which was so reminiscent of Draco’s Hogwarts years that it made him cringe. “You don’t mean Harry Potter?”

Antonio’s face lit up with a brilliant smile again and he ignored Draco’s snide comment. Clearly, he was already smitten with Potter. This was not good. Not good at all.

“Yes, the owner of the tuxedo cat. Do you know him?”

Draco blanched, his voice caught in the back of his throat. Usually, he never had problems coming up with a quick-witted response, but Antonio had left him stunned. And it was all thanks to Potter. As usual. _Bleeding Potter_. Why couldn’t he just stay out of his life?

“No,” Draco said, resisting the increasing urge to sulk. “I only met him briefly. Dear Bertha, was waxing lyrical about him too.”

“Well, he really is brilliant, Doc. And he has the greenest eyes—”

“That you’ve ever seen. Yes, I’ve _already_ heard.” Draco huffed and picked up his books again. He had heard enough. “Well, I’m knackered. Good night.” He walked towards his bedroom and paused in the doorway. “Enjoy your date,” he yelled and slammed the door behind him. “Even if it is with _stupid_ Potter.”

He threw his books on the floor, for once not caring where they landed, and pulled off his clothes, also tossing them anywhere. Then he crawled into bed where his dog was already waiting for him, curled up and fast asleep on Draco’s pillow.

He buried his face in his dog’s soft white fur. “Merlin’s beard! What am I going to do, Harold? Both my ex-lovers are going out on a date tomorrow. The universe really is against me.”

 

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

  
_Five years earlier...._

 

“Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy...get your scrawny bottom in here right away.”

Uh-oh. Draco knew that voice; he hated when his mother used _that_ voice. It always meant he was in trouble, deep, deep trouble, especially when she used his full name too. There was no sense in hiding from his mother though. She had already seen him walking down the corridor. Instead, he tugged on the sleeves of his shirt and walked into the sitting room.

“Yes, Mother, dear?” Draco said in his sweetest voice. He batted his eyelashes at his mother, who was sitting on a white settee, reading over a letter. He greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. His mother pursed her lips into a sour expression and motioned for him to sit beside her. Reluctantly, he did. A spread of afternoon tea with his mother’s favourite rose macarons was laid out on the coffee table in front of them. It was untouched and Draco decided it was best to leave it that way, until he found out what Mother wanted.

“You’re looking lovely today, Mother dear?” he added, hoping to thaw her unpleasant mood.

“Don’t you dare, 'Mother dear' me, Draco Malfoy. Do you know what this is?” She waved the sheet of parchment that she had been reading in Draco’s face, which was pale yellow and bore the Ministry’s seal.

Draco gulped. He was pretty sure he knew what was written in that letter, but he wasn’t going to betray anything in case he was mistaken.

“No, Mother.” Draco tried to keep his voice as even as possible. “What is it?” His mother always knew when he was lying; he had to try to remain composed.

His mother’s pretty face contorted into hard lines; her usually serene blue eyes darkened. Waves of anger and strong magic filled the room. And Draco knew that he was fucked. _Royally fucked_. His mother never lost her cool. For her to be this furious, could only mean one thing. She had found out the truth. May Salazar have mercy on him.

“This very upsetting letter,” his mother hissed, continuing to wave the letter at him with added ferocity as if it were a weapon rather than a sheet of parchment, “arrived from your probation officer.”

Bloody fucking hell. It was worse than he thought. She already knew _everything_. He needed to think of some sort of excuse or explanation. And quickly.

“Do you have any idea what he said?”

Draco shook his head and avoided his mother’s accusatory gaze.

“How’s work, Draco? Are you still getting along with your boss? Selling lots of cakes?”

“Erm...sort of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His mother’s scowl deepened. He could see the long vein in her forehead throbbing, all purple and menacing. Not a good sign. “It’s a simple question, Draco. _Yes or no_?”

Draco blinked, stupidly, and he felt that familiar pinch in his chest. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He had no choice but to come clean. “I was at first,” he explained, “Mr Frothenburg was really happy with my cake decorating skills—but then...I-might’ve-been-fired.”

“What was that?” his mother asked, her face still stern and voice cold. “Look at me when I speak to you, Draco.”

He took a shallow breath and picked up his head, locking eyes with his mother. He hid his hands behind his back and laced his fingers together, hoping his mother wouldn’t notice how much they were shaking.

“I was fired.” Draco paused and waited for his mother’s reaction. He expected it to be apoplectic and was considering getting up and using the settee as a shield. Perhaps he should call one of the house-elves for backup. As long as he kept her talking, everything would be okay.

His mother’s face went blank and she fell silent. Again, not a good sign—but Draco had been preparing for worse. “It wasn’t my fault,” he insisted. “This whale of a lady came in with her pudgy daughter and wanted to order a cake for her daughter’s upcoming sixteenth birthday. I swear I was doing the woman a favour. Children are cruel. I was one of them, so I might’ve given her just...” He covered his mouth with his hand.

“Just what, Dra-co?”

Draco gulped again and breathed into his sweaty hand, which was still covering his mouth. His heart was hammering against his chest so loudly that he was certain that his mother could hear it.

“Just what?” his mother repeated. Mother never liked to repeat herself. Bad things would happen if she had to do it again.

“Some advice. That’s all,” he squeaked, sounding more like a five-year-old boy than a grown man.

His mother bit down on her bottom lip, smearing her usually perfect lipstick, and glared at him.

“It was just a misunderstanding. I swear!”

He wasn’t lying. _Not really_. He was just withholding information. That wasn’t the same thing. Not at all. He would not go down for that horrid obese lady who he would never see again. Mother was fucking scary when angry, especially when she continued to stare at him violently like she was doing now, as if she were trying to curse him with her mind.

After a long pause and Draco sweating so much that his hair gel was melting, his mother finally spoke.

“What advice did you give her?” She spoke slowly, too slowly, enunciating every word like it was a threat rather than a simple question.

“Erm...well. Nothing special really. Who can remember that far in the past?” His chest was tightening rapidly, oxygen being squeezed from his lungs; if he didn’t try to relax himself, a panic attack would overcome him soon. For once, an attack was not unwelcome. Perhaps it would get him a more lenient punishment.

“Draco Malfoy, do not pretend to have a panic attack. Even if you pass out on the floor right this minute...Mipsy will bring you some Calming Draught and I will Enervate you if I have to. Now answer my question.” She narrowed her eyes further and placed both hands on her waist. “No. More. Lies.”

Draco closed his eyes and took two shaky breaths. Relax. Relax. “I might have offered just the teeniest bit of advice, telling the mother that her daughter didn’t need any more cake or they would have to get her School Robes specially ordered next year.” Draco exhaled sharply. It felt good to get that off his chest even if it was going to get him into trouble.

“Is that it?”

He looked down at the ground again. Damn it. He thought that he was done with this interrogation. That woman was brutal. No wonder she could handle Father.

“And then I suggested that carrot sticks and celery might be a more suitable birthday treat.” He sighed. At this point, he might as well go for the kill. “And then... I might have suggested a membership to the new health club that just opened in Hogsmeade.”

Mother let out a high-pitched chuckle at his confession, which was more like a cackle, but he joined in anyway.

His mother continued to laugh, her chest shaking with mirth, but her eyes were still flashing dangerously. “Alright,” she said, after composing herself, “this is what you’re going to do.”

Any hint of a smile had vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, and her face was once again an impenetrable mask.

“You are going to fix your hair, put on a respectable outfit, and then you are not going to return to this house until you have a job. _Any job_. You will _not_ step foot into this house again or any other of our properties until you have done this. If you do not have an acceptable job by tomorrow, then I will cut you off from all our accounts. If that isn’t enough, then I will draw up papers to disinherit you.”

“But Mother...”

“Do _not_ interrupt me.”

Sparks of electric current shot from his mother’s fingertips and shocked Draco’s shoulders and neck, causing his hair to stand on end. He took two steps back from his mother and nodded at her in apology.

“You will do as I say, Draco. I did not survive a war, a house full of power hungry lunatics, and risk my life...for my only son to be carted off to Azkaban because he cannot meet the terms of his probation.” She flicked her bony wrist at him and ushered him out of the room.

“That is all,” she said. “Do _not_ disappoint me.”

 

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

Draco was wandering aimlessly down the crowded street. Every once in a while, he stopped and pressed his hands against the shop windows that held pretty things. He couldn’t help it if he was attracted to shiny objects. Unfortunately, the sight of shiny clothing didn’t have its usual soothing effect. His mother’s ultimatum had shaken him to his very core. He didn’t even remember Apparating out of the Manor and all the way to London.

Deep down, he knew that his mother was right. He was better than this, more than capable of holding a job, even bred for success. And he really would, if only he were given a job that wasn’t so dreadfully boring. He was tired of being held accountable for his short attention span. It wasn’t something that he could control. Even in school, his short attention span had hurt him. The only reason he received decent marks was because his father would have disinherited him otherwise. He only excelled in classes that excited him.

Besides, Academia was not for him. Neither was a librarian, office assistant, baker, bartender, shopkeeper, or even personal shopper—even though Draco had been so certain that he would excel at that last one. Le sigh—he was having a bad day. Again. Lately, these were becoming more and more commonplace, and the only thing that made him feel better was retail therapy. Not just any retail therapy either—shopping on Oxford Street. Yes, _that_ Oxford Street, which was probably how he ended up there without realising it.

During the war, Draco learnt many things, primarily that the Dark Lord was barking mad and that his father must have been even madder for following him in the first place. The most important thing he learnt, however, was that Muggles were not half bad. Actually, Muggles had redeemed themselves in Draco’s eyes. _Completely_. Once he discovered his newfound love of Muggle clothing, haute couture, of course—and that like in the wizarding world, money talks a _lot—_ all had been forgiven. He adored this facet of Muggle culture, especially since he no longer had to deal with the judgemental sneers and jibes that were thrown at former Death Eaters in the wizarding world.

Seriously, one little mistake and it was as if Draco were a pariah. It really wasn’t fair. But what could he do? For now, he just avoided Diagon Alley unless he was dangling off the arm of Harry Potter. For safety purposes. _Only._ Not because he liked it. Absolutely not. And definitely not because they were a couple of any sort.

Shopping on Oxford Street was quickly becoming one of Draco’s favourite past times. At first, the cars and flashing lights had terrified him. The first time he saw them, he might have possibly hidden in one of those hideous red phoneboxes for over an hour until Potter coaxed him out with promises of chocolates and champagne—but once he realized the cars weren’t going to suck out his soul, everything was fine. Potter had been right. There was nothing scary about Oxford Street. The selection of shops was divine and the shop attendants always fawned over him. He loved going where his money was actually appreciated. As it should be. Hopefully, a little shopping could help him figure out this job dilemma.

 

 

 

**~*~**

Retail therapy was not as rewarding as Draco had hoped. His mother was not kidding! When she threatened to revoke his access to all their accounts, he assumed that she was bluffing. There was no way a mother would do that to her only child, right? Wrong!

That woman was cold, brutally cold. It was barely two hours later and she had already put a hold on his accounts. By the time he tried on all his new outfits and matching accessories, he went from being one of the wealthiest blokes in all of England to being completely broke. As poor as Weasley. Perhaps even poorer.

It was so embarrassing. His accounts were declined and the shop girl made a huge ordeal of having to return all of the merchandise to the racks. The new jeans, jumpers, shoes, and sunglasses would have to wait. His only purchase was a white cashmere scarf, which looked absolutely fabulous on him. The only reason he was even able to purchase it was thanks to one of the prepaid Muggle cards that Potter had set up for him. There was barely enough money left on that card for one measly cashmere scarf. Oh, the horror! Was this how the other half lived? Draco was not cut out to be poor.

He made some ridiculous excuse to the shop girl about recently changing banks and hurried out of the store, holding up his one measly shopping bag to his head as if it were a barrier, shielding him from the judgemental faces and jeering scowls that were awaiting him from every employee and customer in the store.

Embarrassment was not something that he was used to, especially not in the Muggle world. A large bank account and a marvellous head of hair were all it took for Draco to be well-liked on Oxford Street. And Harrods. Bond Street. Mayfair. And all the other fabulous places that Draco could never show his face again. No money and no job. What a horrible day. He was certain that all the Muggles walking down the street knew his terrible, terrible, secret. He was poor! Draco needed to get out of there and fast.

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

Draco sat on an old park bench, hiding behind his oversized sunglasses and the shade of the large cherry blossom tree. Most of the petals had fallen off the tree and he thought the tree looked barren, lonely. He wondered if it felt lost without its beautiful flowers and leaves? Merlin’s hairy balls, he really was losing his mind, sympathising with a tree. Perhaps he was just hungry since he had left the Manor without having lunch. Thank Merlin he had stopped to get something.

He picked up and opened the white paper bag that lay next to his lone shopping bag on the bench. After purchasing his scarf, there had been just£2 left on his card, not even enough to purchase a croissant and grand crème at his favourite cafe. He had been forced to purchase _only_ the croissant. Seriously, his mother was going to hear about how she was starving her only child when she calmed down a bit. If she calmed down.

He ripped small pieces off the croissant and threw them in his mouth—deliciously buttery and flaky as usual. At least he was allowed this one small comfort. When he was about halfway finished with his pastry, he heard a soft crash and saw his shopping bag tumble off the bench. How strange, he thought, as he didn’t remember placing the bag so close to the edge.

He leant over and picked up the bag, but as soon he picked it up, a loud yelp escaped his mouth. Bloody hell! The bag just moved. On its own. He swore it even growled. Holy hell, what was he going to do?

There was some type of ferocious beast in the bag. His first instinct was to make a run for it, just take his croissant and go, but then he remembered his beautiful cashmere scarf! It was so soft and white, like holding a baby Pygmy Puff to his face. There was no way he could leave it behind. The beast could _not_ win.

Most people thought that Draco was not brave. And for the most part, he wasn’t. Bravery was not a quintessential Slytherin trait. But never put an obstacle between a Slytherin and his newest toy. Draco never did learn to share; he would not give up his new scarf to this evil _beast_. Arming himself with his wand, he carefully opened the bag and was about to curse the ferocious creature into oblivion when the beast showed its face.

Oh, bugger. The intruder wasn’t ferocious at all. It was a small white puppy tangled in his scarf. Draco was _not_ an animal lover. He never liked dogs of any kind since they usually slobbered too much for his taste, but there was something endearing and adorable about this puppy.

It was completely white from head to tail, except for a little bit of peach colouring right at the ears and its black eyes and nose. He had never seen a puppy before that could fit inside a small shopping bag. This pup was like the ultimate accessory.

He held his breath and reached inside the bag, sticking out his right hand for the dog to smell. This was what he always did with those damn feral peacocks back home, so they wouldn’t bite him. He doubted that the small pup would actually hurt him, but he didn’t want to startle it and have it run off with his scarf. His day was already tragic enough.

Luckily, he didn’t have to worry. The small pup was already enamoured with Draco. As soon as he smelt Draco’s hand, the puppy attempted to squirm its way out of the scarf and lifted itself on its hind legs, so he could lick Draco’s hand. He was afraid that his hand would break out in hives from the creature’s slobber. But nothing happened.

Even though the dog continued licking him incessantly, his hand wasn’t all that wet. Perhaps since its tongue was so small, he didn’t slobber. All his fears had been for nothing. At that moment, Draco changed his mind and decided that he still didn’t like dogs, but this one was an exception. With his other hand, he picked up the dog and cradled it to his chest. It really was quite cute.

“You’re not so bad,” he said. The dog stopped licking his hand for a moment and looked up at him, opening those black eyes wider and giving Draco the most heartbreaking look he had ever seen. Immediately, Draco’s heart melted and he decided that his mother was going to have to make an exception to her no pets rule at the Manor.

“I’m not sure if you belong to someone,” he said, rotating the pup around, so he could get a better look at it. “But since you don’t have a collar, you’re coming home with me.”

The pup starting wagging his tail and gave a little yelp. It was as if he understood. Draco could not have been more pleased. He still didn’t have any money or a job, but at least he had a new friend.

 

 

 

**~*~**

Having a pet was fantastic. Draco had owned his new dog for only a few hours, and already he decided that it was the best decision he made in ages. Originally, he planned to go straight back to the Manor to ask the house-elves to give his new friend a bath, but while he walked the streets of Muggle London, everyone stopped and stared. Yes, he was handsome and everything, but even when he used to go out with Blaise, the pair of them never managed to turn this many heads. What was going on?

And then it hit him. It was the dog. Draco’s new dog was the cutest dog in the world, so all the old ladies and even a couple of blokes stopped to pet him. Once he saw all the attention the dog would bring him, he knew they would become inseparable. Naturally, his pup was a little attention whore; he adored being pet and fawned over. Draco was so proud.

After parading up and down the streets for a couple of hours, both of them were getting tired. He was about to look for a hidden and secure location to Disapparate from when he noticed a small animal clinic at the end of a corner street. Even though he ventured into Muggle London often, he avoided Muggle places that didn’t sell high end clothing or gourmet food. Yet, there was something about the clinic that attracted him. For some inexplicable reason, he was compelled to enter. And if he was going to convince Mother to let him have a dog, then he needed to make sure the pup was immaculate and free of any diseases.

Before entering the clinic, he looked down at the pup to make sure that he was okay. He imagined that visiting an Animal Healer was as traumatic an experience for dogs as it was for wizards. Draco had always cried when his mother forced him to see the family Healer, so he didn’t want to put his new pet through the same anguish. When the pup nuzzled himself into his favourite resting place on Draco’s chest, he assumed it was fine. It looked like he had acquired a brave pup.

“Hello,” Draco called, as he walked in the door. The clinic was larger than it looked from the outside. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he wasn’t expecting to find himself in such a large waiting room. The room was cluttered with unmatched chairs and magazines, plain white walls. At the far end of the room stood a large white counter, whose paint was chipping off in large chunks. His stomach started twisting in knots. He didn’t know anything about Muggle animal clinics, but he had a feeling they weren’t supposed to be this dreary. A voice in the back of his head was screaming at him to leave, but when he was about to turn around, an older woman behind the counter gave him a large smile.

“How can I help you, dearie?” she asked.

The older woman, Evie, which Draco discovered from her nametag, had dark hair that she wore in a stylish bob with long fringe in the front. She had on bright pink lipstick and gold hoop earrings. It was the style of a much younger woman, but her blue eyes shone with the tenderness of a grandmother. She reminded Draco of an old governess of his who had passed long ago. He couldn’t help but smile back at her and feel at ease.

“Erm...”

He wasn’t sure exactly what to say. In the wizarding world, it was illegal to claim another animal as your own without checking with the Ministry to see if anyone had declared it missing. Muggles had strange laws though; they weren’t usually as organized as wizards, so he decided to play it by ear.

“This is my dog,” he finally said, holding out the pup to the woman as if it were a prized show dog rather than a stray. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

Evie chuckled and then bent over to place a kiss on the puppy’s head. “Such a cutie.” She scratched behind the dog’s ears, and the pup rubbed its head against her hand as if it were a cat. Draco swore his heart melted again.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, we don’t.” The same knot tightened in Draco’s stomach. An appointment. Damn it. Apparently, Muggles used those too. A crease formed between his brows and his lips fell into a scowl.

Evie reached out and patted him on the arm. “There’s no need to get upset, dear. We can see you without an appointment.”

“You can?” Draco’s eyes widened and the scowl erased itself from his face. Thank Merlin.

“As long as there’s a doctor in, someone can see you right away.”

“Oh, good.” Draco let out a loud sigh, which caused Evie to laugh.

“Look around, love,” she said, “do you see any other patients?”

Draco tightened his grip on the pup and turned his head to scan the room. She was right. The entire waiting room was empty. That was not a good sign. He looked down at the adorable pup in his arms and contemplated leaving. He had only owned this pup for a few short hours, but Draco already only wanted the best for him. After all, he was the newest Malfoy.

“Don’t give me that look,” the woman told him. “You’re not going anywhere. Dr Vallarta is very, very good. You’ll love him, I promise.” Without waiting for a response, she picked up the phone. “Let me just see if he’s in, okay? Sit tight for a minute.”

Draco still wasn’t convinced, but he nodded anyway. There was no harm in meeting the doctor. He took a seat in the cleanest and least offensive looking chair and waited, his arms wrapped protectively around his pup.

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

“Go on in, love,” Evie told him. “Dr Vallarta will see you now. I’m certain you’ll like him.”

Draco stood from his chair, the world’s most uncomfortable chair, and frowned. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been waiting, but the longer he waited, the worst of an idea this seemed. What if the doctor harmed his pup? What if there was something wrong with him? A million scenarios flashed through Draco’s mind, most of them negative.

Where do I go?” he asked, feeling stupid for the hundredth time that day.

“Room two. Straight ahead.” Evie pointed at a door across the room with her clipboard. “And I would smile if I were you.”

“Why is that?”

“Just trust me.” She gave him a wink and pushed him towards the door. “Good luck, the doctor will be right in.”

 

 

 

**~*~**

Draco’s pulse was racing. The waiting felt eternal. Where was the doctor? Droplets of sweat were piling up on his hairline, but he couldn’t wipe them away. Both of his hands were occupied, holding his pup in a tight embrace. There was no way he was letting him go. This was just a check up, he reminded himself. Not a big deal, so why was he acting so barmy? Snap out of it. Now.

Finally, the door flew open and the doctor entered. Dr Vallarta was not what Draco had been expecting. He expected an old man with a potbelly and a friendly laugh. Not a Spanish model. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty; he had shaggy black hair that was just the right amount of messy and tanned skin. He was so tall and broad shouldered that Draco had to bite down on his lips to keep himself from drooling. Now he understood why Evie told him to smile. She should have warned him. That bitch.

“Hello, there,” the doctor said. “I’m Dr Antonio Vallarta. Thank you for waiting.”

Draco blinked stupidly, still dazed and tongue-tied. He stuck out his hand towards Draco, and Draco had no choice but to shake it.

“Dray-co,” he choked out, after shaking the doctor’s hand for several seconds. “My name is Draco.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Draco. What an unusual and lovely name.” The doctor let go of his hand but not before giving it a little squeeze. Draco cheeks grew warm.

“Thank you,” Draco said, finally regaining his normal voice. “The pleasure is mine, Doctor.”

Dr Vallarta flashed him a brilliant smile. “ _Please_ , call me, Antonio.”

“Antonio,” Draco repeated, savouring how the foreign name felt on his tongue. Apparently, he had been worried for nothing.

“And who’s this little guy?”

Draco turned his head. “What?” He was still wrapped up in that smile. There was something very familiar about Antonio’s smile. It was comforting as if he had seen it before, but that was impossible. How odd.

Antonio laughed, his smile stretching all the way to his eyes. “My patient. Your puppy there. What’s his name?”

Oh, the puppy. Right. The smile dropped from Draco’s face. Name. Name. Name. Bollocks. Why hadn’t he given him a name? In all of his excitement, giving his newest friend a name had escaped him. What a horrible pet owner he was.

“His name...” Draco looked around the room for a clue, anything that would save him. Nothing caught his eye. “His name is...”

Antonio placed his clipboard on the table and then ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the black fringe that fell in his face. Holy Salazar! _So green._ Antonio’s eyes were hazel, speckled with flecks of green. Bent over the clipboard like that, Antonio looked just like...

“ _Harry_.”

“Harry?” Antonio asked. “That’s an interesting name for a pup.”

“What? _No_.” Fuck. He hadn’t actually realised that he had said Harry’s name aloud. He didn’t want to name his dog, Harry. Potter would tease him endlessly. How was he going to get out of this?

“His name isn’t, Harry?” Antonio frowned. He had an adorably confused look on his face, which Draco decided to ignore.

Draco pursed his lips, trying to find a solution that wouldn’t make him look slow in front of the hot doctor. “It’s Harold. His name is Harold,” Draco replied with a smile. Yes, Harold was a better name. Totally different than Harry. Besides, he figured it would annoy Potter if he ever found out.

“Well, let’s check you out then, Harold.” Antonio motioned for Draco to place Harold on the table, and although he was uncomfortable with how high it was, he did.

 

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

“He looks great, Draco,” Antonio told him, handing Harold back to Draco with that big smile still plastered on his face. “For a pup you just found, he doesn’t have any major issues...just a small ear infection that we can cure in no time.”

Draco was horrified. “An ear infection? Why did that?”

“Really, don’t worry. It’s very common in small pups, especially ones that have floppy ears. His heart and lungs sound good. His reflexes are sharp. Eyes clear. Really, the only thing he needs is a good meal and some antibiotic ear drops.”

Antonio leant over and scratched Harold’s head, which Harold responded to by trying to lick his hand. “You’re fine, right? Tell your worry wart of an owner that you’re fine.”

Draco was still not convinced, but he supposed that Antonio knew what was he doing and nodded. He was good with Harold, and Harold had taken to him immediately. It almost made Draco jealous, but since he was bringing Harold home, he decided not to let it bother him.

“Thank you, Doctor. I mean... _Antonio_.”

Just in case, he pulled Harold up to his face and gave him a kiss right on the nose. “Are we all done then?”

“Just about. I still have to take his temperature.” Antonio turned to look at the clock in the room and sighed. “Would you mind assisting me?”

Draco blinked. “What?”

Was this bloke mad? The last time Draco checked he was the doctor, not Draco.

“There’s usually a technician around, but they tend to go home early.” Antonio sighed. “My staff doesn’t respect me for some reason.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Draco said, trying to change the subject. “You’ve got a very imposing figure. You command lots of respect.” He smirked. “Maybe you should get some glasses?”

Antonio gave him a strange look and then burst out laughing. “You’re hilarious. Imposing figure. That’s great.” He turned away from Draco and started rummaging in a nearby drawer. “Don’t worry, it’s easy. All you have to do is hold him in case he squirms.”

“Erm...” Draco looked down at Harold; that knot in his stomach was churning again. He wasn’t sure how good he’d be at helping Antonio, but it didn’t appear like he would take no as answer. “Alright...what do I have do?”

Draco held Harold on the table, one hand underneath his stomach and the other rubbing his neck. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.” Antonio grabbed a long glass tube – a thermometer – Antonio called it, and coated it in some clear goop. Draco thought the goop looked a lot like lubricant, but he decided against bringing it up. Lubricant was one of those topics his mother was always telling him he shouldn’t bring up in polite conversation. For once, he was going to listen to his mother.

Antonio examined Harold’s backside and tried to insert the tube in his butthole. Harold whimpered and scrambled out of Draco’s arms, leaping off the table. Without even thinking, Draco cast a wandless _Arresto Momentum_ and caught Harold before he hit the floor. He’d never cast that spell wandless before. Thank Merlin it worked. He wrapped Harold in his arms and cradled him like a baby, placing kisses all over his head.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he told the pup. “ _Please._ I thought my heart was going to stop.”

Antonio stared at Draco; his face was redder than Weasley’s, and his mouth was hanging open. Oh, no, Draco thought, he’s broken. Casting spells in front of Muggles was illegal, but this had been an emergency. He doubted that the Ministry would notice that tiny spell, but he was more concerned that Antonio had noticed. How could he explain?

“Dra-co, I’m so-sor-ry,” Antonio stammered, once he snapped out of his shock. “I don’t what happened. That’s never. I-”

Draco held a hand up and silenced him. “It’s alright. Harold is fine. _I’m_ the one that let him go.”

“No, it’s not.” Antonio ran a hand through his hair; his handsome features were all twisted in distress. “That never should have happened. I’m the vet...you were _amazing_. ”

Draco beamed; he loved when people actually appreciated him. “Was I?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes and smiling. It appeared that Antonio hadn’t noticed the spell. Thank goodness.

“Absolutely,” Antonio insisted. “How about we try again? I’ll hold Harold.”

Draco pressed his lips into a thin line. After what had just happened, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be the one responsible for Harold. He had no idea what he was doing.

“Are you sure?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “What if he jumps again?”

“I’ll hold him tight.” Antonio locked eyes with him; those hazel eyes were shining so earnestly that he couldn’t help but believe him.

Draco nodded and reluctantly handed Harold over to Antonio. “It’s for your own good,” he whispered right in Harold’s ear. “Please, stay still.”

He followed Antonio’s directions verbatim and unwrapped a new thermometer, coating it with the clear goop. The goop was much too cold, and Draco assumed that it was uncomfortable to put that freezing tube in your arse. He covered his mouth with his hand and cast a discreet Warming Charm on the thermometer. That should help. Keeping his hands as steady as possible, he raised Harold’s tail and then slowly inserted the thermometer. He expected Harold to cry and flinch like before but nothing happened. Instead, he held the thermometer in place until it beeped. Antonio explained that the beep meant it was finished.

Oh. Thank. Salazar. He did it. Draco let out a loud sigh of relief and smiled.

“Is that it?”

Antonio stared at him. He looked completely aghast. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re a natural, Draco.” He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, reminding Draco suspiciously of Potter again. “Seriously, you’re better than my staff. I should hire you instead.”

A job. Draco’s breath caught in his throat. Did Antonio just offer him a job? The idea of Draco working with animals and Muggles was absurd. Malfoys didn’t work at a place like this. He was about to dismiss the idea when he remembered his mother’s threat. Showing up at the Manor empty handed was not an option.

“I accept,” Draco shouted, a little more enthusiastically than he had intended.

Antonio creased his brow and pursed his lips. Draco figured that this was his contemplative look. “Oh, I wasn’t serious, Draco. It was only a joke. I’m sure a bloke like you has a fancy job somewhere.”

Damn it. He was so close! Draco’s face fell. He had failed again. Fired from a job he hadn’t even started. That had to be a first.

“I understand,” he said, lowering his gaze to the floor. “You don’t have room for me.” He stuck out his bottom lip and grabbed Harold off the table. “Thank you for your services, Doctor. Harold and I will be going now.”

He turned on his heel and was halfway out the door when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“No, wait,” Antonio said, strain evident in his voice. “I’m sorry. If you really want a job, it’s yours.”

Draco spun around and met Antonio’s eyes. “Really? I don’t have any experience or anything.”

Antonio shook his head and smiled, that same dazzling smile as before. “Absolutely,” he said. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re a natural. Come in on Monday.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Draco thanked Antonio again and left the clinic, not believing his luck. A job at a Muggle veterinary clinic might not be his ideal career, but it was better than Azkaban. Things were finally looking up.

 

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

  
_Present day..._

 

Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine.

Draco paced around his flat, counting the thirty-nine steps it took him to walk around his living room and kitchen table. It seemed like it was all he did lately. Harold was cuddled in a ball on the couch, hiding one eye behind a throw pillow and staring at Draco with the other. He knew that his pacing made Harold uncomfortable; the poor dog was extremely susceptible to Draco’s ever-changing moods, but he couldn’t help it. Antonio was late coming home. Again. Three times that week, he’d been out with Potter and it was making Draco mental.

How could this happen? There was no way in hell that Potter and Antonio were compatible. Antonio was so clean-cut, immaculate, punctual, articulate. He had perfect hair and actually ironed his clothes. Potter, on the other hand, was a disgrace. He had horrid clothes, dreadful hair. The idiot could barely string two sentences together, and for someone so graceful in the air, Potter was a complete klutz, always tripping over his feet and running into things. Draco had no idea what he saw in Potter in the first place.

No, that was a lie. Draco knew exactly what he saw in Potter. As much as he hated to admit it, he had spent his entire school career and even a year or two afterwards, obsessed with Harry Potter. Everything about him annoyed Draco, pushed him over the edge. But at the same time, everything about Boy Wonder enticed him.

Those eyes—so sinfully and unnaturally green—that sorry-excuse of a rat’s nest for hair. It was so messy that Draco wanted nothing more than to run his hands through it, to twist those ridiculous frizzy strands around his fingers. And that mouth of his, such full pink lips that were always the slightest bit chapped. He hadn’t minded Potter’s mouth when it was wrapped around his cock or biting on his chest.

 _Fuck. No, snap out of it. Don’t think about Potter._ He’s wasn’t Draco’s any more. Hell, he never had been in the first place. Memories of Draco fucking a rather enthusiastic Potter in the mouth flashed through his mind. His trousers were growing painfully tight. This was not good. Antonio could come home at any moment. How would he explain his hard on to him? _Sorry, mate, I was just fantasising about your new boyfriend._ No, there was no way he could tell him that.

He placed his hand on his crotch, his cock involuntarily twitching against it. No one was home _yet_. He could pull off a quick wank before Antonio walked in the door. All he had to do was think of that one time that Harry and him had gone away for the weekend. They went to Paris, stayed at an upscale Muggle hotel, so no one would bother them. They’d fucked in a hot tub multiple times, in the lift, the roof. Basically, on every available surface. It had been a weekend to remember, one of the best of his life. He wondered if Potter ever thought about that weekend?

 _Stop being an idiot._ Wanking over the past, especially Potter was a bad idea. Things had ended badly between them. And really, there was never a Potter and him. They had only fucked for a few short weeks. Way less than his year long relationship with Antonio. The arsehole didn’t deserve a minute of Draco’s time.

He unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, reaching a hand in and grabbing his balls. He gave them a little tug and closed his eyes. _Think about anything else_ , he commanded. McGonagall in her undergarments. His grandmother. Breasts.

There. That was better. His erection was slowly deflating; he pressed his face on the triplet of glass windows in their living room. Their new flat had a marvellous view of the Thames and even a small patio garden. He never thought that he would enjoy living in such a busy city. At first he longed for the solitude and tranquillity of the Manor, but this flat had been the perfect compromise. The quietness kept him sane and the open space of the garden helped his panic attacks. He wasn’t sure about the cleanliness of the air, but it seemed to help anyway. Perhaps that was what he needed now.

He removed himself from the window and went back to the kitchen. His takeaway was spread out on the table barely touched, and his piles of books and research took up the other half. It was not like him to leave his flat in such a state of disarray, but he had more pressing matters to deal with. He wasn’t hungry at all, not for food—and he had an early shift at work tomorrow, so he probably shouldn’t drink.

His best bet was to go outside and get some air. Before leaving the kitchen, he gave the clutter on the table one last glare; he was about to turn around and then changed his mind. Screw it. Antonio would be too intoxicated on Potter’s obnoxious charm and green eyes to notice the mess.

 

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

“Draco, what are you doing out here?” Antonio asked.

“Thinking,” Draco mumbled, without turning around. He was standing on their patio, leaning against the rail and looking out across the water. The quiet waves of the Thames mesmerized him and so did his cloud of smoke.

“I can see that.” Antonio stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re back early,” Draco said, his tone accusatory rather than cordial. “What...does Golden Boy have a curfew or something?”

Antonio hesitated, probably thrown off by Draco’s harsh tone, but then offered a slight chuckle. “No, it’s 2 am, Doc.”

Draco blinked and dropped the cigarette that he was holding in his hand, flicking it over the guardrail. Merlin, he had lost track of time. Somehow, hours had passed.

“I know,” Draco snapped and pulled his arm out of Antonio’s grip. He didn’t mean to be so snotty with Antonio. The poor bloke didn’t actually know that he was dating Draco’s ex, but he had to be angry with someone. And Potter wasn’t around to blame. Besides, Antonio was used to his moods after all these years. Draco never picked delicate friends.

Antonio reached out and grabbed Draco’s arm, pulling him close enough that Draco could not escape his intense gaze. He had that sad, concerned look on his face again, like a kicked puppy dog. Fucking hell...why did he have to give him _that_ look?

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” Antonio’s voice was soft; he held Draco’s arm in his strong palm and gave it a squeeze. “But this isn’t like you, Doc. You’ve been acting strange all week. You know that you can tell me—”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He looked into Antonio’s eyes and tried to give him his most earnest look. There went his resolution of being honest with his friends. In the last week, he must have lied to Antonio and all his colleagues more than a dozen times. Tricking people was not part of his life anymore. He no longer had the stomach for it.

Without saying another word, he squirmed his way out of Antonio’s grip and walked over to the small wicker table and chairs in front of their patio door, motioning for his friend to join him. Their outdoor furniture didn’t get much use as Draco preferred to hang out by the guardrail and get lost in the scenery. At the moment, he was thankful he bought it. This time, Antonio was not going to be appeased by his denials; it looked like he was in for a long night.

Draco sighed. “It’s just been a rough week,” he said, not meeting Antonio’s eyes.

He reached into the front pocket of his jacket and pulled out another cigarette and lighter. Draco didn’t smoke anymore. It was a filthy Muggle habit that some interns had introduced him to years ago. It made his panic attacks worse and exasperated his asthma. But his nerves were so shattered tonight that smoking a couple of fags seemed like the least harmful of evils.

He brought the fag to his lips and lit it, inhaling deeply as the harsh smoke rushed to his lungs.

“I see you’re smoking again.”

“I’m not,” Draco lied. That was the second pack he’d purchased that week. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

The dark look on Antonio’s face softened.”Oh, about your family? The war?”

Draco nodded, keeping his face sombre. The lies were just spewing from his mouth now, like tiny shards of venom that were slowly poisoning him.

“Why didn’t you—”

“It’s nothing,” Draco insisted. He leant over and offered Antonio a smile, blowing a ring of smoke into his face. “I didn’t want to burden you, not since you’ve been so happy with your new lover boy.”

Antonio blushed. “Stuff it, Malfoy.” He held his hand out and Draco passed him the cigarette. He took a long drag and then smirked back. “Fuck it. When in Rome, right?”

“Right.” Draco wasn’t sure what Antonio was talking about, but he shrugged it off as another one of those Muggle expressions he would never understand.

“So tell me about, Pot—I mean Harry. Tell me about _Harry._ ”

“But...what about?”

Draco waved his hand dismissively. “Forget about me. I’ve been thinking about my demons all night. I’m exhausted.” He opened his eyes wider and pouted. “Please, give me some dirt.”

“Well...” Antonio bit down on the corner of his lip. “There’s not much to say.”

Draco scoffed. “You’ve see this Potter bloke three times now. There must be something to share. How big is his cock?”

Antonio coughed and widened his eyes so much that he reminded Draco of his old eagle owl. It was too easy to embarrass him.

“There, there,” Draco said, pretending to rub his back. “Don’t die on me. Not without giving me details.”

Antonio caught his breath and looked pensive, staring off in the dark sky. The truth was Draco didn’t want to know about Antonio’s date at all. The idea of Potter and him off at some romantic restaurant, making googly eyes at each other across the table made him sick to his stomach. Yet, somehow he needed to know everything, every last detail. Holy Mother of Merlin, he was such a masochist. Why did he do this to himself?

“If you insist,” Antonio said, after several moments. His face lit up into dazzling smile as if he were a child receiving his first broomstick. “Harry’s just amazing, Draco. He’s so funny and smart. A gentleman.”

His smile grew wider with each compliment. That gnawing feeling in Draco’s stomach was growing, sour bile ramming its way up his throat. If this didn’t stop soon, he was going to vomit.

“How _marvellous_. He seems so perfect.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “Perfect _Potter._ ”

Antonio laughed, a deep belly laugh, not realising that Draco was serious. “He’s not perfect yet. We haven’t actually...you know?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “What shagged?”

Antonio shook his head. “Not yet.”

Draco let out a sigh of relief. Thank Merlin. Perhaps there was some sort of higher power somewhere. The sour bile made its way back down Draco’s throat and settled in his stomach where it belonged.

“Why not?” Draco asked, his voice high-pitched and strained. Bloody hell. He really was a masochist. Mother always did tell him he never knew went to keep his mouth shut. Why couldn’t he take his victory and drop it?

Antonio shrugged. “Harry offered to take me back to his place tonight, but I don’t know. It didn’t feel right. I want to be sober the first time we make love.”

“Make love?” Draco mouthed. He scowled and pressed his lips into a hard line. So Potter _had_ wanted to fuck Antonio. He crumbled the cigarette in his hand and didn’t even wince when the hot ash burnt his skin.

“ _I know. I know._ ” Antonio put his hands over his face. “I’m so mawkish and sentimental it makes you sick. I fall for blokes _too_ quickly. You don’t have to say it.”

Draco flicked the used cigarette into the ashtray and pushed the pack of cigarettes towards Antonio. “Here, you need them more than I do.” He removed the lighter from his pocket and gave him that too. “I’m going to bed. I have an early shift tomorrow.”

Antonio ignored the cigarettes and creased his brow. “Alright, sweet dreams.”

“You too.” Draco walked away from the table and towards the sliding glass door. “And Antonio,” he said, before walking in the door, “watch yourself. Don’t let him break your heart.”

 

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

The next morning found Draco at the office bright and early. He had barely slept the previous night, tossing and turning all night. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could picture was Antonio and Harry. Sometimes they were laughing and dancing, but most of the time, Harry was leaning against the doorpost of his flat, wriggling his eyebrows in his faux sexy look and asking Antonio if he wanted to come in for a nightcap.

It was awful. His dreams were plagued with images of Harry writhing under Antonio, begging him to fuck him harder and deeper. Draco kept waking up in a cold sweat and with the urge to empty his stomach. Finally, he got out of bed, beauty sleep be damned, and made his way to the office early, for the first time in ages. Draco was not a morning person, regardless of his career choice.

He sat at the receptionist desk and browsed through some magazines. There were still two hours left before the clinic opened and he was bored out of his mind. Usually, a stray patient or two would have wandered in, but today he was having no luck. Really, he should be happy that there were no emergencies and sick animals clouding his clinic, but he couldn't help but be annoyed. All he asked for was one patient to make the slow scorch of time stop eating away at his brain. Three shots of espresso was not how he liked to start his day.

He looked up at the clock again, 7.03. Fuck. Draco swore that at least a half hour went by since the last time he checked on the clock, not three measly minutes.

Today was not going to be a good day; he could feel it in his bones. Wednesday mornings were slow at the clinic since most patients didn't come in until the late afternoon, but today was going to be brutal even for a Wednesday. There were only two appointments scheduled for the entire morning, and they were just simple checkups. Thank god that Draco had remembered to bring reading material.

At home, he spent most of his free time reading animal science and medical journals. He was a firm believer that human medicine and even certain magical elements could be transferred and applied to veterinary science. While Muggles couldn't withstand any application to magical potions or treatments, animals even non-magical ones, appeared to have no ill effects thus far to any of his experimental treatments.

Draco hypothesized that all animals, even regular cats and dogs, had magical cores or at least the potential to absorb magic, which Draco found fascinating. Slowly, he was compiling enough research to submit his findings to an academic journal. He knew that his findings were a major breakthrough, but he doubted that anything written by former Death Eater Draco Malfoy would ever be published in the wizarding world—and he couldn't send it to a Muggle journal. They would either think it was a joke or threaten to lock him up. Neither option was acceptable in his eyes. When the time came, he needed to find a suitable pseudonym.

Oh, well. He looked up at the clock again, 7.15. He might as well use this time to get some work done.

At this point, Draco had got over his caffeine jitters and was able to concentrate on his reading. He had charmed an old issue of _Men’s Health_ to hide his personal research journal and lab notes. It wasn’t that he didn't trust his other colleagues, but he didn't want people, especially Antonio and Bertha, to be snooping around his work. Plus, he also kept the newest edition of _GQ_ in his reach. Just because he was a boring swot now didn't mean that he couldn't be the best dressed doctor in all of London. He was sure that he could add some type of aesthetic cost to his office visits. After all, not all doctors were as attractive as he was.

Time crawled by and it was just about opening time, quarter to. Draco decided to take a break from his work and flip through the latest issue of _GQ_ when he was disturbed by the squeaking of shoes. Merlin's beard, who in their right mind would wear trainers that grating?

He looked up from his magazine and came face to face with the last person he wanted to see, especially when he was sleep deprived and cranky: Harry fucking Potter.

Well, that explained it. Only Potter could be clueless enough to be caught dead in those hideous and screeching trainers. His fashion sense had not improved in the last five years. Not that Draco hadn’t tried to offer indispensable fashion advice to Potter—but no—he liked the _train wreck_ look. It was comfortable.

Draco scowled, giving Potter his most disapproving look. What was he doing here again? He was already dating Draco's ex and flatmate. Did really have to infest his workspace too?

"Potter," Draco growled, "go away. Your little boyfriend isn't here. He's probably still sleeping off whatever it is you gave him yesterday.” Draco deepened his scowl. "Drinking on a weeknight. That's low even for you, Potter. Some of us have to work for living, you know. Antonio hasn’t been that sloshed in ages."

"Right." Potter ran a hand through his hair and laughed nervously. "Good Morning to you too, Draco." He smiled. "I see your sunny morning disposition is still intact."

"Shut up, Potter. I told you Antonio isn't here. _Leave_."

Draco wanted to scream. Potter was standing there and ogling him with that stupid clueless, innocent look of his. It was so infuriating. Why was the git acting as if they were still friends?

Potter continued to stare at him, those annoyingly green eyes shining brightly behind his glasses. They were starting to throw Draco off. The bastard did it on purpose, knowing it made Draco bonkers.

Then Potter had the audacity to laugh, and not his nervous laughter of before, a real hearty laugh that lit up his entire face, creasing that one adorable dimple of his and even crinkling his eyes.

"Jeez, Draco. Is that really how you treat your customers? No wonder the place is empty."

Draco's face grew hot. He did not want to get into an argument with Potter. If he didn't leave soon, Draco was about to curse him through the wall. Since it was his clinic and all, he didn't want to deal with the clean up. Although—if need be, he could always pawn the job off on one of the interns. It was good being the boss.

He mentally patted himself on the back for quick thinking and then scoffed at Potter, schooling his features into his all too familiar Malfoy sneer. He hadn't used that sneer in ages, as he didn't want to scare off the patients and their owners, but Potter always found a way to drive him over the edge.

“I don't have customers I have patients you complete berk," Draco snapped. "And I can treat you anyway I please, considering you aren't either."

Draco huffed and slammed his clipboard on the reception table, for dramatic effect, of course. He was quite proud of his little speech.

Potter frowned and then started tugging at the loose fringe on the end of his oversized sleeves. "I'm not here to see Antonio," he finally said, his voice much quieter than before. "I came to see _you_."

Draco scowled again. What the hell was Potter thinking? He really was insane. "Where's your sick pet?"

"Huh?"

Draco sighed. "This is a Veterinary Surgery, Potter. And unfortunately I'm the only doctor on duty at the moment...so unless you have a sick dog, cat, parakeet, tarantula, whatever. Get out of my sight."

Potter's frown deepened and his face fell, a wretched look spreading over his face. It made Draco want to hug the prat, but he couldn't give into Potter's game. _Be strong. Be strong_ , he repeated to himself.

"I-I don't have a pet with me, but I was hoping we could talk."

"Does this look like a therapist's office to you? " Draco sniffed. "I have nothing to say to you. "

"But-but..."

"No, buts. Get out! Get out!" Draco was shouting now, wild magic coursing through his veins. It was so rare that he ever lost control of his magic. Bloody Potter. Even as a child, he didn’t have problems reigning in his magic. Boy Wonder needed to leave, and now, before Draco did something he would regret and that would get him tossed into Azkaban with his loser of a father. He didn’t want to spend anymore quality time with Daddy Dearest. He’d already had his fill for a lifetime.

Potter opened his mouth to protest but then closed it. He gave Draco a sad little nod, that same wretched look still on his face. "Fine," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "But here's my card, just in case you change your mind."

He slid a small white card towards Draco and turned around, leaving the clinic with his shoulders slouched and head looking at the ground.

A horrid gut-wrenching feeling stirred in Draco's stomach as he picked up the card that Potter had left him. He should feel ecstatic. He actually won a confrontation with Potter, a feat that rarely happened. Why did he feel like shit then?

All he could think of was that last defeated and dejected look Harry had given him. It was like a knife through his heart. How did Potter always have this control over him? It wasn't his place to feel bad. Potter was the one that had destroyed their relationship even if Draco was the one who had _technically_ left. There was nothing left to say, especially now that Potter was dating Antonio.

He sighed again, a new habit he picked up since Potter reappeared in his life, and studied the small card. Surprisingly enough, it was written in neat green ink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

>   
>  **_Waggy Tails Photography_**  
>  Harry Potter  
>  Professional Pet Photographer  
>  Available for house calls and studio visits.  
>  Please ring or write to set up an appointment and for more information.
> 
> T: 07824 988216
> 
>  

**~*~**

Potter could not be serious. A professional pet photographer? Draco had never heard of such a job, but then again a lot of his clients did seem to dress their smaller pooches in ludicrous outfits and studded collars, so he supposed that there were always crazies out there willing to spend money on anything. Oh well, it didn’t matter. If he were lucky, he wouldn’t have to see Potter again. He’d made it clear to the idiot to leave him alone. Not that Potter had ever been good at listening. He always did believe himself to be above the rules.

Draco fingered the white business card. He’d been staring at the damned thing all afternoon, and even though he knew he should just toss it, something stopped him. How ridiculous. It was just a stupid card and some letters, not even Potter’s real handwriting since it was much too neat. Why did it matter to him? _Because Harry gave it to you_ , a traitorous voice in the back of his mind cried. _Deep down, you hope that he still has feelings for you...like you do for him_.

“Shut up,” Draco yelled at his subconscious. He did not have feelings for Potter anymore. That was absurd, especially after the way things had ended between them. Potter was trying to annoy him, to get under his skin like he always did. That was all.

“Who are you yelling at?”

Draco spun around in his chair and found Allison standing behind him, her arms crossed in front of her chest and eyebrows raised. She must have finally returned from her lunch break.

Draco frowned and narrowed his eyes. “There was a bug,” he lied, trying to brush Allison off. His assistant was always too nosy for her own good and was never around when Draco needed her, much like his receptionists. In many ways, Allison reminded him of Pansy, which was the only reason he kept her around.

Allison did not look convinced. She had that annoying determined twinkle in her dark eyes. Whenever she had that look on her face, Draco knew he was in trouble.

“Right,” she said, leaning against the desk and studying him closely.

Draco tried to keep his face as stoic as possible and slipped the business card into his sleeve. Allison noticed anyway. What a meddlesome wench.

“What is that?” Her eyes widened and red lips parted.

“It’s nothing,” Draco snapped. “Get back to work.”

Allison laughed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, let me go treat all these invisible patients.”

Draco sniffed. Just because Allison was two years older than him, did not give her the right to be so disrespectful to her boss. Not that he would ever say anything. He wanted to keep all his limbs intact; he knew how scary she could be and he witnessed what she did to Barry or Larry, an old technician that used to work there, who ogled her arse a little too closely.

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Allison was faster. She reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out the card. Damn! His Seeker reflexes must be rusty.

She waved the card in the air. “What do we have here?” She scrunched her nose at him and gave him a victorious look.

“Waggy Tails Photography. _Harry Potter_.” A high-pitched squeal flew out of her mouth. “I _knew_ it. You have a thing for Harry.”

“Are you mad, woman?” Draco threw his arms up in exasperation. “I don’t even know the bloke.”

Apparently, Allison didn’t hear him because she continued prattling on. “Draco fancies Harry. Draco looooves Harry.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Draco stood up from his chair and covered her mouth with his hand. “If you say another word, you’re fired.” The words seemed to fall from his mouth. He wasn’t serious. Allison might be annoying, but she was the only one of his assistants under the age of sixty. He was about to apologize when the crazy bint actually bit him.

Draco cried out in pain and Allison just shrugged. “You deserved it.” She tossed her long hair behind her shoulders. “You’ve fired me three times now,” she said, her voice smug. “It never sticks.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he cursed, eyes raised to the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he started saying that, but Antonio always screamed it when he was upset. It seemed appropriate. “Can’t I get a sodding patient?”

For once, it appeared the universe was taking pity on him. A familiar chime rang in his ears, alerting him that a potential patient had walked in. Without saying another word, he sprinted out of his office and towards the reception area, praying that his next patient wouldn’t be turned off by his enthusiasm.

Unfortunately, he had given thanks too soon. His luck was not changing and the universe was still holding an infinite grudge against him. Draco did not have a potential patient waiting for him by the receptionist desk. Instead, he came face to face with Harry-I-Live-To-Destroy-Draco’s-life-Potter.

Draco crammed his hands in his pockets and let out an exasperated sigh.

“What the hell, Potter?” he grumbled. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your life than annoy me?”

Potter stared at him, his hands hidden behind his back.

“Draco, hi.” He offered Draco a polite smile, which made Draco want to kill the prat even more. Why was he being so nice? God, he was always so infuriating.

“Yes, hello, Potter. Just like earlier...Antonio is still not here. Goodbye.”

Draco turned on his heel and scrambled out of the room, not wanting to chat with Potter any longer than necessary, especially with Allison in the other room. Before he could make his getaway, a warm hand grabbed the back of his shoulder.

“Draco, _please_.” Potter’s voice was strained and oh-so desperate. “I need your help.”

Hearing Potter so upset caused an uncomfortable lump to form in the back of his throat. He should have kept walking and shrugged Potter off. He didn’t. How could he when he used that voice? He might be a Malfoy, but he wasn’t heartless.

He gulped and slowly turned around, preparing himself for the desperate plea that was sure to be in Potter’s eyes. Draco hated that look; it always made him forgive the idiot for whatever atrocity he had committed.

“What is that you _want_?”

Draco stared at Potter, ignoring the urge to throw his arms around him until he smiled. The git could not know that he was affecting him. When it came to Potter, Draco needed the upper hand at all times.

Potter looked down at the floor and hid behind his long fringe. He looked absurd, not adorable. Definitely not adorable. “I don’t mean to bother you again,” he said, his voice quiet and child-like. “But you said to come back if I had a sick animal.” He lifted his head and locked eyes with Draco, his eyes shining with hope. “Winston is sick.”

Draco closed his eyes. Bloody hell! How could this be happening? Yes, he had been desperate for a patient, but why did it have to be Potter and his cat? And what kind of bloke named a cat Winston?

He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes. Potter stood there, his hands still hiding behind his back and a pathetic, hopeful look on his face.

“Potter, I don’t have—”

“Please.” Potter removed his hands from his back and pulled a purple glittery carrier to his chest. “ _For Winston_.”

He opened up the carrier and pulled out a small tuxedo cat. The cat had sad grey eyes that shone silver under the fluorescent lighting of the room. Draco swore the cat was pouting at him. Well, if cats could pout and all.

Defeated, Draco threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, fine.”

“Thank you! Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

“What’s the problem, Potter? I don’t have all day...you know.”

Draco had led Potter and Winston into examination room number two, and he was now running a full body exam on Winston, checking his body condition, eyes, ears, etc. He really was an adorable cat, not that he would tell Potter.

“ _Harry_.”

Draco dropped his hands from Winston’s back and picked up his head. “What?”

“Call me, Harry,” Potter repeated. “You used to.”

Draco scoffed. “Things change.” He glared at Potter as if he had just told him the earth was flat.

He reached out his hand and covered Draco’s with his own. “Draco, things don’t have to be like this.”

Draco’s eyes grew wide; he snapped his hand away from Potter as if it had been scalding hot. “Yes, they do,” he insisted. “And call me Dr Malfoy. This is an appointment for Winston not a social call.”

Potter’s face darkened, that soft, friendly look disappearing from his face. “Why are you always like this?” he snapped. “I just want to talk to you.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Well, I don’t want to talk to you. How can I get that through to your tiny brain?” He scowled. “Why do you keep doing this to me? Isn’t it enough that you’re dating my flatmate? Just...” He picked Winston off the table and pretended to examine his teeth. “Just leave me _alone_.”

Draco wanted to kick himself. He was beyond pathetic. He wasn’t supposed to lose it like this in front of Potter. But it was no use. No matter what he did, Potter always broke his heart.

“No....it’s _not_ like that.” Potter furrowed his brow. “Antonio and I we aren’t—”

“I _don’t_ want to hear it.”

Draco lifted his hand, asking for quiet. He placed his stethoscope in his ears and bent forward to examine Winston. In order to get a proper heart rate reading, he only needed to listen for about ten seconds. Instead, he listened for a good minute and a half. He needed to catch his breath, to take a small mental break. Being around Potter always made him frenzied, and he didn’t want the poor cat to suffer. It wasn’t Winston’s fault that his owner was such a prat.

“Winston’s heart sounds fine. I don’t hear any abnormalities.”

When Draco looked up again, he saw Potter biting the corner of his thumb. It was red and slightly swollen—the idiot must have been biting it the entire time he was listening to Winston’s heart. Part of him wanted to slap Potter’s hand out of his mouth and tell him off for that disgusting habit. Merlin knew he’d reprimanded him enough times when they were actually together. Things were different now. It wasn’t appropriate to lecture Potter about his bad habits, and he certainly didn’t want to touch him again.

He wasn’t sure how his body would react. Even after all this time, Potter was still an annoying speccy git—but he was a bloody attractive speccy git. It wasn’t fair.

“That’s good.” Potter dropped his finger from his mouth immediately, like a child who had been caught in a cookie jar by his parents. “I-I-”

“Mr Potter,” Draco said, interrupting in his most professional voice. “As you know, I’m a very busy man, and I’m not seeing any serious issues with Winston. Why were you so insistent on bringing him in?”

Potter bit the corner of his lip, his face taking on that crushed look that made Draco want to scream. “It’s his back paw.” Potter walked over to Winston and grabbed his left hind leg. “He’s been chewing on it non-stop for days and he’s starting to pull hair out.”

“I see.” Draco nodded, trying to keep the professionalism in his voice. It was difficult though when his heart felt as if it were going to pound out of his chest.

“Yeah, and he’s been scratching a lot too.” He frowned and gave Draco a troubled look. “I wasn’t sure if it was serious. But...I was scared. Winston’s just so—”

“Important to you.”

“Exactly.”

“I know it sounds stupid but he’s—”

“Everything. I know.”

Draco gulped and then bit his tongue, forcing himself to shut up. Oh, holy Salazar. What was he thinking completing Potter’s sentences like that? He hadn’t done that since...

With every passing second, the intensity in Potter’s gaze grew; his eyes were so bright and earnest, shining at Draco with a fierce longing that he hadn’t seen in years. Why was Potter looking at him like that? A shiver prickled down Draco’s neck; he was biting down on his tongue so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth. This needed to stop. Immediately.

“An allergy.” Draco’s voice was rough, foreign to his own ears, but it was enough. At least he had broken the uncomfortable daze between them.

“What?” Thankfully, Potter stopped looking at him and turned his gaze towards Winston, who was still sitting on the table, staring up at both of them with curious silver eyes.

“An allergy,” Draco repeated. “Winston probably has an allergy of some sort.” Draco paused, not wanting to insult Potter for Winston’s sake. “Unless you think he has fleas,” he added, trying to refrain from his usual accusatory tone.

Potter shook his head and bent over to scratch Winston behind the ears. “You don’t have fleas, do you, boy? Daddy Harry brushes you and gives you anti-vermin potions all the time, doesn’t he?”

Draco arched an eyebrow and had to bite down on his lip to refrain from laughing. “Daddy Harry?”

A pink tinge spread across Potter’s cheeks. “Shut up, Malfoy. You’re the one that works with cute, fuzzy animals all day. You wouldn’t think an evil Slytherin like yourself—”

“Enough.”

Draco pushed Potter away from the table and examined Winston’s paw closely, making sure to cast a silent numbing charm before touching him. A charm of his own invention.

“Yes, his skin is all red and there are some open sores. I recommend you change his diet. It’s probably that.” He released Winston’s paw and then ran his fingers down the cat’s back, massaging him for being such a good patient.

“Oh, I didn’t think—”

Draco snorted. “Of course, you didn’t think, Potter. It’s _you_. What does Winston usually eat? It’s probably best that you switch him to a grain-free hypoallergenic diet.”

“Erm...” Potter creased his brow and shrugged. “He eats whatever I eat...just in smaller portions.”

Draco gasped, his eyes opening so wide, he was certain that Potter could make out his pupils. “Are you mad? You’re lucky that you haven’t killed him. Merlin’s beard. I knew you were thick, Potter...but this is low even for you. Haven’t you ever heard of cat food?”

The flush in Potter’s cheeks grew brighter, like two rosy patches on a cold winter’s day. “I tried cat food, but he didn’t like it.” He bit down on his lip again, reminding Draco way too much of the boy with the oversized glasses and unruly hair he had been back in school. “I didn’t want him to starve.”

Draco shook his head and reached into the drawer underneath the examination table. He pulled out a small fish shaped biscuit.“ _This_...is an organic hypoallergenic, grain-free, dairy-free cat treat. Recipe of my own creation.” He waved the treat underneath Winston’s nose, who happily took it and started munching on it right away.

“If you lead a busy life, which I doubt,” Draco added with a smirk, “then you can purchase a similar dry food from Allison in reception. Or...if you insist on feeding Winston human food, you can come back another day and speak with Evie or even Antonio about the proper nutrition and supplements you’ll need to add to Winston’s diet.”

 _Antonio._ Draco had been so caught up in his lecture on proper nutrition that he forgot about Antonio. It was almost like old times with Potter, him being an idiot and Draco helping him clean up his mess. Thinking about Antonio and his relationship with Potter caused a sharp pain to rise in his chest again. Fuck.

“I’m so sorry...so sorry.” Potter sniffled into Winston’s ear, burying his nose into Winston’s neck. “Will he be okay?” He looked at Draco with tear-filled guilty eyes.

“He’ll be fine. Just go talk to Allison. She’ll give you a topical cream to put on any open sores and can help you with the diet.” He turned away from Potter, no longer being able to look into those heartbreaking eyes and patted Winston on the head. “See, he’s fine. Now get out of here. I’ve got better things to do than stare at your ugly face all day.”

Potter laughed, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. “Thank you.” Carefully, he picked Winston off the table and tucked him into his carrier. As he turned and walked out the door, purple carrier in hand, Draco swore he heard him whisper, “ _I’m sorry_.”

 

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

Draco came home early on Friday evening and was thankful the dreadful week was almost over. Potter’s visits had disturbed him, deeply, and he hadn’t been able to concentrate on his work or anything else since then. Yesterday, he had almost prescribed the wrong medication to a three-year-old Golden Retriever. Thank Merlin that Evie had noticed before handing it over to the owner. That easily could have been a lawsuit and a dead patient on Draco’s watch. He would have felt terrible. Clearly, it was all Potter’s fault, but he still would have been held responsible and had to live with the consequences.

 _Nevermind, no more thinking about Potter_. His night was going to be completely Potter free. He had a date with a bottle of wine or two and a good book. Perhaps one of Antonio’s trashy romance novels that he would never admit to reading. Antonio had been absent all day; he had taken the day off to visit his sister and mother. Draco wasn’t usually fond of spending Friday nights alone, but after the week he had, the only company he wanted was alcoholic or furry with four legs.

He walked into his flat, excited to start his relaxing night. Harold and Tiffany, Antonio’s Bichon, were waiting at the door for him, wagging their tails and barking at him happily. Draco laughed. He knew it was a bad habit to let the dogs jump and cause such a commotion at his arrival, but since Antonio wasn’t home, he said fuck it. After all the rubbish with Potter, he needed a bit of attention and unconditional love of his own.

He greeted both dogs just as enthusiastically and made sure to give equal kisses to each one, so there wouldn’t be any jealousy. He hung up his coat, took of his shoes, and then made his way into the kitchen. A loud noise made him suspicious. Oh, dear lord, he hoped it wasn’t a thief. He didn’t want to get any blood on their new white carpets.

Holding his breath, he tiptoed into the kitchen, his wand raised in front of him. He was right. The kitchen _wasn’t_ empty, but it wasn’t an intruder. Antonio was standing behind their marble counter, headphones glued in his ears, and chopping up some vegetables in between dance moves. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and tucked his wand into his sleeve before Antonio noticed it. His heart had been in his throat. Thank goodness, it was only his flatmate.

He tapped Antonio on the shoulder and smiled.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “I thought you were visiting your sister and mother.”

Antonio spun around and faced Draco, his face flushed. “Oh, hi.” He leant over to give Draco a kiss on the cheek. “You’re home early.”

Draco grinned. Antonio had not heard one word. Whenever he listened to music, some ibox or something, he was completely lost to the world. Draco could shout at him for hours and his friend would be clueless. It was hard to be annoyed with a bloke that was wearing a flowered apron though.

“I am,” Draco said, trying to suppress his laughter. “What about you? I thought you had plans.”

Antonio turned away from Draco and went back to chopping vegetables. “Yeah, change of plans. My mother and sister are coming here for dinner.” He pushed the neatly chopped rows of spinach together and grabbed a tomato from the plate of vegetables next to him. He was always organised in the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” he added, when Draco didn’t respond.

“It’s no problem. Can I be of any help?”

Antonio shook his head, still facing away from Draco. “No, that’s okay. Why don’t you take the dogs for walk? Everything should be ready in half an hour or so.”

“Sure.” He turned to both dogs, who were laying on their matching beds in the kitchen, observing them quietly. “You hear that, little monsters? I’m the one stuck with you today. Who wants to go for a walk?”

 

 

 

**~*~**

Harold and Tiffany’s walk lasted a little longer than a half hour. Draco wanted to make sure to give Antonio plenty of time and space to prepare for the arrival of his family. He loved Antonio’s family; they were so warm and welcoming so very different from his own family. Carmen, Antonio’s mother, had given Draco a bone-crushing hug and welcomed him to the family the first time he had met them.

At first, it was intimidating as Antonio’s family was as loud and rambunctious as a bunch of Gryffindors, but quickly he had gotten used to these boisterous and lovable people. He still spoke to his mother frequently, but he didn’t get around to see her more than once a year. Taking frequent trips to the Manor was just too painful for Draco, a permanent reminder of everything he’d lost. He had no idea how Mother lived there day after day with only her sister and great-nephew for company.

At least Antonio’s family was a good crutch when he was feeling particularly homesick. Carmen was a wonderful woman, raising four children single-handedly. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a family like that?

Draco smiled at the thought of having siblings; he had always begged for a brother or sister. He decided to stop and buy Carmen and Alicia some flowers. Perhaps family wasn’t always about blood. Holy Salazar, if Father could see him now, socializing and buying gifts for Muggles. He’d probably faint.

When Draco returned to his flat, he carried two bouquets of yellow and pink roses. He had wanted red roses, but they were out and decided against spelling the flowers red, in case the spell wore off at some point. With two bouquets and dogs in tow, he couldn’t open the door, so he knocked. Draco had a big smile on his face that immediately faded when the door opened. As planned, Antonio opened the door, but inside their flat Antonio’s family was nowhere in sight. Instead, Harry Potter sat crossed legged and pale-faced on their white leather couch.

What was going on? Was Antonio really planning on introducing Potter to his family already? It was _too_ soon. Draco felt that same knife from the other day twist in his chest, deeper than last time.

He stormed in the room and threw the flowers on the table. Completely ignoring Potter, he walked over to Antonio and handed him the dogs. “Here,” he spat. “They’re all walked just like you wanted. Why is _he_ here?” He motioned to Potter with a quick jerk of the head. “Isn’t it a little soon to be meeting the parents?”

“Draco, I can explain,” Harry said, jumping off the couch and walking over to them.

“Stay out of it, Potter. I wasn’t talking to you. I already told you to leave me alone.”

Antonio closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “They’re not coming,” he said. “They were never coming.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “What?” He turned to Potter and narrowed his eyes at him. “Is this your doing, Potter? What have you done to him?”

“No, it’s not like that. I just wanted to talk to you, Draco. _Please_ , hear me out.”

Draco huffed. “Absolutely not. I have nothing to say to you.”

Antonio stepped between them, noticing that things were getting heated. “Look,” he said, in that calm and soothing voice of his that he usually only saved for his patients. “We didn’t mean to trick you, Draco. This was my idea not Harry’s. Don’t blame him.”

“Of course, I blame him,” Draco yelled. “It’s always Potter’s fault.”

“It’s not,” Antonio insisted. “He told me the truth. _Everything._ And—I think you two should talk.”

Draco’s heart was racing, panic forming in his chest. It couldn’t be. Had Potter really ratted him out to Antonio? Heartless bastard. His hand slipped into his pocket, gripping his wand tightly. Potter was barely a foot away; he could curse him into a million pieces right now and no one would know.

Potter must have noticed him reach into his pocket because he grabbed Draco’s arm.

“ _Don’t_.” He locked eyes with Draco and mouthed, “Not everything.”

Draco sighed in relief and turned back to Antonio. “I’m not angry,” he said. “I can’t imagine what lies Potter must have told you about me...but they aren’t true.” He shook his head and snorted. “Really, you could do better. I don’t think you should keep seeing him.”

Potter put his head in his hands and Antonio sighed. “We’re not...really seeing each other.” He avoided Draco’s eyes.

“What? So that was a lie too?” Draco could not believe what he was hearing. His best friend had teamed up with the-boy-who-lived-to-annoy-him and gone behind his back. All this time, Draco had been sick over lying to Antonio when the backstabber was doing the same. He had been outwitted by a Muggle and a Gryffindor. It was unimaginable.

“No...I mean yes. _Sort of_.” Antonio was tripping over his words as he always did when got nervous. Draco knew that it would be a while before he got a straight answer from the man, so instead he turned to the real culprit behind the scheme, Potter.

“Potter,” he said, his voice as sharp and cutting as glass, “explain now.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “We’re _not_ dating,” he said, his voice low and pained. “It was a stupid lie and I’m sorry....but you wouldn’t talk to me. I had to do something. Christ, Draco...I’ve been chasing after you for months.”

Draco gasped, horrified. “You’ve been spying on me. Having me followed.” His eyes were wide again. “Of all the dirty, rotten tricks....”

“NO!” Potter yelled, his face growing red. “It’s not like that. Please, listen to me. Antonio made dinner and...”

Draco threw his head back in dark laughter. “Do you really think I’m going to have dinner with _you_? After this stunt.” He sniffed. “You’re even madder than I thought.”

“Doc...” Antonio chimed in, “give the bloke a chance. Just trust me on this.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started on you, yet, mister. We’ll talk later. You’re not off the hook either.” Draco narrowed his eyes and watched Antonio gulp. Good, he was worried.

“Don’t take this out on your friend,” Potter said, putting himself in front of Antonio. Draco rolled his eyes. Potter _always_ had to be the hero. “It’s me that you have a problem with. You owe me, okay. You just left. I had no idea...”

“Leave the past in the past.”

“No!” Potter shouted, his eyes glowing dangerously. “Listen to me, Malfoy...if you don’t have dinner with me...I’m going to alert the Ministry to what you’re doing here. I’m sure they’d love to hear about all the illegal spells and potions you’re using in your practice...in the presence of Muggles no less.” Potter whispered the word Muggles, hoping that Antonio would miss it. He didn’t realise that Antonio was extremely perceptive.

“Draco? What is he talking about? What’s a Mugg—”

Draco cut him off. “Fine, Antonio, you win. Get out. I need to talk with Potter.”

Antonio looked relieved and offered them a small smile as he turned away and grabbed the two dogs. “Great...just make sure to eat before it gets cold.”

Quickly, they made their way out of the flat, leaving Draco alone with Potter and dread stirring in his gut. He turned to Potter and gave him a resigned look.

“You win, as usual. Let’s eat though, so Antonio doesn’t have kittens when he gets back.”

Potter gave him a dazzling smile that almost made Draco forget why he was so furious with him in the first place. Stupid Potter. He grabbed a bottle of wine and two plates. This was going to be a long night.

 

 

 

**~*~**

It was a beautiful summer night. A cool breeze drifted off the river and the patio was filled with the sweet aroma of honeysuckle and orchids that Draco had been growing all summer. Antonio had set the table for two; sunflowers and twin candles adorned the table. It was the perfect romantic setting for an unforgettable night—except for the fool who was sitting across from him.

Antonio had been gone for at least twenty minutes, but he and Potter sat in silence, staring at their plates.

“This is really good,” Potter said, finally breaking the quiet.

“Antonio is a superb cook.”

“I can see that.” Potter scooped some more lentils into his mouth. “But what is it exactly? I’ve never had anything like it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s because your version of dinner always comes in a takeaway carton.”

Potter frowned and Draco felt a little guilty. So far, Potter was making an effort; he shouldn’t have snapped so quickly.

“They’re dal,” he explained, “a type of Indian lentils. And that’s palak paneer, basically a type of Indian cheese cooked with spinach and spices.”

“Oh.” Potter forked a piece of the paneer and stared at it. “I knew it wasn’t chicken. I thought maybe tofu.” He shrugged. “The only Indian dish I’ve ever eaten is—”

“Chicken tikka masala.” Draco locked eyes with him, his cheeks burning from Potter’s intense gaze. “I remember.”

Potter smiled, his entire face brightening. “You do? I didn’t think you thought—”

“Of course, I thought about us. God, I’ve been thinking about nothing else since you’ve shown up. I’m not a heartless bastard...regardless of what you might think.”

The smile on Potter’s face faded and he looked down at his food, pushing it around his plate. “I don’t think that,” he whispered, talking more to his plate than to Draco.

“Then what is that you... _what_ do you want from me, Potter? You can’t seriously be planning to turn me into the Ministry.”

Potter’s head snapped up from his plate. “I won’t. I promise.” He paused, a pensive look on his face. “You’re doing amazing work at your clinic. I would never take that away from you.”

Draco blinked; all the anger that was coursing through his body dissipated. Potter was doing it again, that annoying charming thing of his.

“You think it’s amazing?”

“Absoutely!” Potter smiled again wider than before. “It’s brilliant, Draco. _You’re_ brilliant.”

Draco’s cheeks burnt; he could feel the blush spreading down his face. “Stop it, you don’t really mean that.”

Potter dropped his silverware and reached across the table, cupping Draco’s hand in his. “I do,” he insisted. “God, Draco, I miss you so much. I’ve thought about you every day since you left.”

Draco whirled his hand away from Potter’s, his lightning Seeker reflexes not as rusty as he imagined. “Don’t. You can’t come here and mess with my life again.” He closed his eyes. “Not after last time. _Please_...you had your fun...don’t jerk me around again.”

“I’m not...I just...” Potter furrowed his brow, deep in thought. “I need to know what happened. What did I do? Why did you leave?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Draco snorted. “I’m not daft, Potter. I know about the deal you had with my mother.” He paused for a moment, gaining his courage. “And about the letters.”

“Wait...what?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know that Mother was forcing you to watch out for me...because of the life debt you owe her.” Draco breathed an exasperated sigh. After so many years, it felt good to get all this off his chest. “You don’t owe me anything, Potter. We’re even. I won’t be your pet project again.”

“Draco, you weren’t—”

“Yeah, right. Why else would you spend so much time with me? Taking me to dinner...teaching me about Muggles, taking me shopping.” A strained, manic chuckle forced itself from his lips. “God, I must have been so pathetic to you. Poor Malfoy, no job, no life skills of any kind. Did you laugh about it with your little friends? Did you? _Did you_?”

Draco was fuming now. Without even realising it, he had stood from his chair and was standing in front of Potter, shouting in his face.

 

“You really are a twat, you know that?”

Potter grabbed Draco and forced him onto his lap, his face only inches away.

“Yes, your mother asked me to watch over you, but that was more like making sure your scrawny arse didn’t join Lucius in prison. I did all those things because I wanted to. Because I fucking love you, you _idiot_.”

Before Draco could respond or even comprehend what Potter was saying to him, Potter grabbed him from behind the neck and pulled him closer, devouring his lips in a eager kiss.

Draco had kissed plenty of blokes—okay maybe not plenty—but enough blokes to know what a good snog entailed. Kissing Potter was something else. Potter kissed liked he did everything else in life, with a raw and fierce determination. He kissed Draco as if the world were ending that night and they were the only two people on the planet. Perhaps in the universe. Draco never had a quiet mind; a million thoughts were always bouncing left and right, but as soon as Potter kissed him, his mind went blank. The only thing he could think of was Potter; the only thing he saw was Potter. All he could say was _“More.”_

Their kiss might have gone on for hours or perhaps it was mere seconds, but when they broke apart, Draco was gasping for air and entirely lightheaded.

“Potter...Harry?” His voice was lodged in the back of his throat, his cock painfully hard against his trousers.

“I love you, okay?” Potter said, when he finally caught his breath. “I’ve been looking for you for months, years even...basically since I found out you weren’t in France.”

Draco looked down at the floor. He didn’t want to talk about France. That was just another lie in the endless web of lies that were slowly strangling him. “I wasn’t. I didn’t—”

Potter placed a hand underneath Draco’s chin and lifted it towards him. “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. Just tell me that you still feel the same. That we can try this again.”

Draco closed his eyes; his heart was beating against his chest so rapidly that he was certain that Potter could hear it. Hell, he was certain that his neighbours could hear it.

“I-I-” He wanted this so much. The idea of Potter with Antonio or anyone else for that matter was slowly killing him. It felt like someone had snapped him out of a horrific nightmare. But it was all too fast. Could he really trust Potter? There were still so many questions left answered. He needed to know.

“What about the letters?” he asked, once again cursing his masochistic nature.

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What letters?”

Draco sighed and looked up to the ceiling. “The ones from your other lovers. The older Weasley and Boot.”

Harry’s eyes widened in realisation. “Those letters from ages ago?”

“Yeah, I found them the day before—”

“You left.” Harry frowned, a pained expression evident in his eyes. “I remember. Oh my god. Is that why you left?”

Draco pursed his lips into a thin ‘O’. He had left for many reasons: his mother’s bargain, the letters, shame, trying to forget. For someone who loved to talk, it was difficult for Draco to put his emotions into words. “Partly.”

Harry looked at him expectedly, so Draco took a deep breath and continued. “I was already working at a Muggle veterinary clinic when I left. I hadn’t told you because I was too ashamed, but you know about my probation. I was desperate and had to take a job.”

“But, Draco. I wouldn’t care about any of that.”

Draco opened his mouth and closed it. This was getting difficult. He had to explain this the right way. “I-I guess I knew that deep down...but that didn’t change my shame. And then there was the doubt about your deal with my mother.” He frowned. “And then that day I finally left, I saw those letters. Letters from not one but two different blokes that wanted to fuck you...or you were already fucking.” He looked down at the floor again, staring at his shoelaces “I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

Harry threw his arms around Draco again and brought him close, planting kisses on top of his head and whispering in his ear. “I’m so sorry.” His voice was breaking, strain noticeable in every word. “I wish I knew.” He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Those letters meant nothing, okay. Yes, I had a short fling with Charlie once, but that was ages ago. I wrote him back that same day and told him that I had met someone.” His voice was soft, tears welling in his eyes. “I want you, Draco. No one else.”

Draco lifted his hand and wiped the tears underneath Harry’s eyes. As much as he sometimes wanted to beat him into a pulp, seeing Harry cry always broke his heart.

“And Boot,” Harry continued, “I was never with him. He always wanted something more, but I already had everything I needed. Please, believe me.”

Draco felt his own lump building in the back of his throat but quickly swallowed it down. Malfoys didn’t cry. Merlin knew that Potter was maudlin enough for the both of them. He pressed his lips against Harry’s in a soft kiss and rested their foreheads together.

“I believe you.” He stared into Harry’s annoyingly green eyes. “I-I’m sorry that I just left...only leaving that note and that lame excuse about an apprenticeship. I should’ve faced you and—”

Harry silenced him with another kiss. “Forget it. I don’t care anymore...just don’t run off again.” His eyes looked panicked again.

“I suppose not,” Draco said, smirking. “But I’m not giving up my practice...or my research...or this flat. And you have to make it up to me...take me shopping, give me massages, fuck my brains out.”

Harry shook his head and laughed, his eyes no longer pained. “Whatever you say, as long as you pass out my cards to all your customers.”

Draco sighed. “They’re not customers, Potter.”

“Whatever...just give them the cards.” He leant in and blew into Draco’s ear, his breath hot and lips tickling his earlobe. “And I’ll fuck your brains out...any time... any place.” He dipped his tongue into Draco’s ear, massaging the inside and then nibbling the lobe in that way that always drove him wild. “As long as I get to call you, Dr Malfoy.”

Draco broke into a wicked grin. “You have yourself a deal there, Potter.” He wrapped his fingers in Harry’s hair and positioned himself on his lap so their crotches rubbed against each other. “You better get started on it. Immediately.”

 

 

 

 

**~*~**

  
_6 months later..._

 

Draco opened his eyes and stretched out his arms and legs, wriggling his fingers and toes as quietly as possible. He didn’t want to wake the messy head of hair that lay beside him. Most mornings, Draco still couldn’t believe that he wasn’t dreaming—that Harry was really his. Harry lay next to him; his strong limbs were tangled underneath the covers, one leg hanging off the bed and his face hidden underneath their silk comforter, only ringlets of thick hair, black as ink, splashed onto a pillow. A ridiculous besotted smile stretched across Draco’s face. Sometimes, he felt like he was waking up to an empty bed. Potter always burrowed underneath the covers, along with their two dogs and cats. It was strange being the only normal one who enjoyed sleeping on top of the covers instead of underneath them. He wasn’t sure how they all breathed down there—but they seemed content—so he let them be.

It was a chilly winter morning; a light frost covered their bedroom window; the remnants of fresh snow dusted the barren treetops. The sky was grey and cloudless, the sun nowhere to be found. Draco used to hate winter mornings like these, waking up in huge empty bed, no fireplace to keep him warm. He had never been fond of sleeping alone. At least he didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Harry was warm and toasty enough for the both of them.

When he left the wizarding world, Draco thought that he would never find happiness again. Magic was his entire life, the only thing he knew. Yes, he had found a great friend in Antonio and was even able to find a career he enjoyed and excelled at, but he didn’t think that he would ever find _true_ happiness again, especially not without Harry.

The first time they got together, Harry had been far from the perfect boyfriend. He left his dirty socks all over the flat and never hung up his wet towels or cleaned out the toaster. Sometimes, he fell asleep and left Draco miserable in his rooms for hours, waiting for a fire-call that never came. He refused to visit the Manor, yet he forced Draco to play _nice_ with the Weasels. Even so, no one else that Draco dated before or afterwards compared to the way Harry made him feel.

Antonio had technically been a perfect boyfriend. He never made a mess in their flat; he was a marvellous cook and an unselfish lover. He never forgot to call if he was going to be late, and he always left Draco little notes around the flat, telling him how much he appreciated him. But he wasn’t Harry.

No matter how wonderful another bloke was, no one could take Harry’s place. There was something about him that drew Draco to him, like a moth to a flame. He knew that he would burn and possibly even disintegrate into a million pieces, but it was impossible to stay away. Luckily for him, it seemed like the attraction worked both ways.

For the last six months, Harry had not left his side. He was insistent on making up for lost time. Within weeks, Harry had abandoned his flat in Hogsmeade and had moved in. Luckily, Antonio had not minded taking Harry on as a third flatmate. He just smiled and told Draco that he thought it was brilliant, especially since he would only have to pay a third of the rent now. Draco humoured Antonio and allowed him to pay his new reduced rent rate; however, the truth was that Draco never accepted a penny of Antonio’s rent, not after everything he had done for him. The poor sod was insistent on paying rent, so every month Draco deposited Antonio’s rent money into a savings account that he could later give to his sister or his niece for a university fund. In the end, he knew Antonio would appreciate it.

After making up with Potter, Draco had stayed angry with Antonio for exactly two weeks, giving him the silent treatment and forcing him to work all of Draco’s morning shifts. He hadn’t been thrilled that his supposed best friend went behind his back and plotted with his ex-boyfriend. If Antonio had attended Hogwarts, Draco had been certain that he would have been a Hufflepuff; he was such a gentle and caring soul. But after that little stunt he pulled with Harry, he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps the bloke had some Slytherin in him after all.

Draco had also been a little resentful towards Antonio—afraid that he secretly fancied Harry. For the first two months of their relationship, he kept an eye on Antonio and Harry at all times, forcing them into intimate situations to see how they would act. Sure, it was a sneaky, Slytherin thing to do, but Draco needed to be certain. They had convinced him so thoroughly that they were really dating—that Draco needed to make sure he wasn’t being made a fool.

This second chance at happiness, second chance at life, meant everything to Draco. He could not go back to way things were before, to his half-life. Luckily, he had nothing to worry about. Harry only had eyes for him, and Antonio had met a nice girl that worked in a Muggle pet store. After that, life had grown comfortable between the three of them. Harry and Antonio were both such integral and essential parts of his life: blood and oxygen to him.

Harry was his oxygen; if he went too long without him, he felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he couldn’t see clearly. But Antonio, he was just as important. In his own way, he kept Draco stable and sane, helped him not attack some of the more difficult pet owners that came into their clinic. He had never imagined that his life would turn out like this: shacking up with Harry Potter, a Muggle Veterinary Surgeon, and their two dogs, two cats, and a parakeet. Still, he wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

For so long, his whole life had revolved around magic. He thought that in order to become a great wizard, he needed to live in an extravagant manor and hold a position of power and prestige. Life experience and Harry had taught him otherwise. He didn’t need any of those things to be a great wizard. He lived in a humble—okay maybe not so humble flat—in Muggle London, held a career as a Muggle Veterinary Surgeon, but he was _still_ a wizard. Perhaps an even greater wizard than he would have been if he followed in his father’s footsteps.

Often times, life did not work out that way one wanted it to. As a child, Draco used to pout and cry until he got his way. Unfortunately, that strategy didn’t work as well in adulthood. He learnt that instead of pouting, he just had to grab life by the balls and make his own way in the world. It had not been easy, but he had survived, endured—and in the end, his reward was so much sweeter.

Merlin’s saggy balls, he was turning into such a sap. He blamed Potter, of course. Just because they were an item, did not mean that Potter wasn’t still responsible for every negative thing that ever happened in Draco’s life. The only difference was that now Potter also got credit when things went right—like how Potter’s business card idea actually worked and he referred all of his clients to Draco and vice versa. Oh, no, clients! They were probably already late.

Draco snapped himself out of his daydreams and turned to look at the clock. 8.32. Fuck, Potter’s first clients were coming at 9.00. He needed to get the idiot up.

“Harry! Harry!” Draco reached across the bed and shook the largest lump that was still huddled underneath the comforter. No response. Potter wasn’t a morning person either.

“Harry, come on, we’re going to be late,” Draco said, still shaking his barmy boyfriend. When he didn’t receive a response again, he tugged the covers off the bed. Within seconds, four grumpy protests filled the room: one human, a bark, and two meows.

“Doc, stop it. It’s Sunday.”

Draco clucked his tongue at the animals and then smacked Harry on the head. “I told you not to call me that, Potter! And you have your first client at 9.00. Did you forget? A special holiday shoot.”

Rubbing his eyes, Harry sat up in bed and reached for his glasses. “Oh, Merlin.” He stretched his arms over his head and groaned. “Why did I ever agree to host a photo shoot on a Sunday?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Beats me. It’s all that moral fibre you Gryffindors have.” He avoided Harry’s eyes and reached over to greet Winston, Harold, and Oliver. “Too much fibre always makes me sick. So I just avoid it.”

Harry lifted his chin and let out a high-pitched chuckle. “Oh, yeah, I forgot that you’re such a big bad Slytherin. You spend your days healing sick puppies and pussycats.”

Draco frowned and leant over to shove Harry again, almost pushing him off the bed. “Shut up! Like you’re any better?” He sat up straighter and crossed both arms in front of his chest. “At least I don’t take pictures of puppies and pussies in costumes all day.”

Harry blushed, two pink patches spreading up his cheeks. “Fine, fine. We’re both lame.” He leant forwards for a good morning kiss, but Draco offered him his cheek instead.

“Not until you brush your teeth. And time is ticking away, Potter. Get to it.”

Harry grumbled but pushed himself out of bed. “I know. I know.” He walked across the room and put on his dressing gown and slippers. Draco watched him and then picked the comforter off the floor and snuggled under it again, trying to get comfortable.

“Aren’t you going to come with me?”

Harry stood in the doorway, pouting at him. His hair was even more of a disaster than usual, sticking up in all directions as if he had got in a fight with a feral Pygmy Puff; and his face was all sleep-creased and puffy. He was utterly adorable, and there was no way Draco could have denied him _anything_. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to play with him a bit.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know. It’s so cold out. And it’s so comfy here.” He raised his arms behind his head and then nuzzled his head in between Harry’s pillow and his own. “I have so much more room now.”

“What?” Harry blinked those impossibly green eyes at him and stuck out his bottom lip. He looked like a small child who had just been told that Christmas was cancelled.

“But—we?”

Draco sighed and then sat up again, giving Harry his sternest look. “Well, I _suppose_ I could accompany you,” he drawled in his haughtiest voice, “but it’s going to cost you. _Big time_.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said, a wide smile on his face, “I’m dating this really successful bloke who runs his own clinic. Money is _not_ a problem.”

Draco rolled his eyes and then propped himself out of bed. Once upon at time, grey winter mornings had been his downfall, but now he found that he didn’t mind them all that much.

 

**~The End~**

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading!


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